


One Star at a Time: A Survival Guide for the Reluctant Camper

by cinnaluminum



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: AU due to lack of mosquitoes and blackflies, Camping, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Excessive Feelings, First Time, M/M, Mild Kink, Praise Kink, Teasing, title and chapter titles borrowed from the one and only Tragically Hip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnaluminum/pseuds/cinnaluminum
Summary: David has thus far refrained, with difficulty, from commenting on the flashlight (he may have mentioned the bears) but he is beginning to suspect that the awful chunky boots and the pocketknife Patrick always seems to have handy are just scratching the surface when it comes to his outdoorsiness. David hasn’t seen a pair of cargo shorts yet, but they haunt his dreams like a khaki Sword of Damocles.





	1. the sky was dull and hypothetical/ and falling, one cloud at a time

“David!” Alexis shuts off the hairdryer, the better to yell at him, he assumes. “How many times do I have to tell you you can’t just, like, use my correcting concealer whenever you have a crisis? And the bathroom is all damp! Why are you showering at 4:30 anyway? I thought you were at work.” 

“Okay, first of all, I’m not having a crisis! And it’s a sample, and I was right there when you got it, so we’re sharing custody, okay?” David isn’t proud. It’s not his favourite brand, but it’s a reasonable facsimile, and this is an emergency situation. Not that he’ll admit that to Alexis. “Unless you want to go to the outlet mall all by yourself next time. Or hey, you could ask Stevie to come with you.”

“Well, you could have turned on the fan at least! It’s like a swampy anxiety jungle in here. This is NOT good for my hair!” Alexis’s voice has lost none of its shrillness, but David can hear the doubt creeping in. Stevie doesn’t have the expertise to correct her if she picks out something objectionable now that they’re shopping off the rack, or the subtlety to coax extra samples out of the staff at Sephora. She needs David, and she knows it. 

David turns back to the mirror, inspecting his face from all angles. Too pale. There’s a patch of dry skin on his jaw where the drugstore brand moisturizer isn’t working all that well. He looks tired, and there’s a persistent, anxious twitch in his left eyebrow.  At least his hair is acceptable. He twists his mouth to one side in resignation. It will have to do. 

Alexis comes back out of the bathroom, putting on a pair of earrings and still (still!) talking. “Like, I understand if you need to take a long, sad shower before you update your Insta for the night, but could you save it for after I go out next time?”

“No, I could not! Because I’m going out too. Patrick’s picking me up.” David readjusts the cuff of his sweater and hesitates. Talking to Alexis, really talking to her and not just exchanging barbs, is usually something he does against his better judgment. But as he has recently discovered, she has an infuriating way of occasionally saying exactly what he needs to hear. And he is having a crisis, after all. So in the absence of his extremely well-paid (former) therapist…

“I mean, eventually, we’re going out. But first I have to fix my hair. And pack an overnight bag. And get my shit together, emotionally speaking. And pick an outfit that makes me look sexy and approachable, but also responsible and safe, and not, like, too experienced.” He examines his current attempt critically in the mirror before deciding with a sigh that he has to scrap it and start again. Too many zippers. 

“David!” Alexis cries gleefully, “Do you have a date?! With your adorable cinnamon roll slash business partner? Is it _the third date_?” She stage-whispers the last part, eyes wide, slapping her phone down on the bed with a muted jingle of charms. 

“Fall off a cliff, Alexis,” David shoots back, but it’s half-hearted at best. Somehow, lately he’s been unable to summon sufficiently vitriolic responses to his sister’s baiting. “It’s been significantly more than three dates, a fact of which I know you’re well aware, because we share a room and we literally can’t escape each other.” 

“Oh my god, David, chill! I’m just trying to be supportive because I can tell from the pile of rejected sweaters on your bed that you’re going through something right now. And I didn’t mean like your actual third date, I just meant, like, is this a sex date? Is it THE sex date?” She flails like a tyrannosaurus attempting jazz hands, and David responds with an inarticulate squawk of frustration. They always bring out the best in each other. 

“What?! You never stay over there, so I wasn’t sure if you were doing that yet,” Alexis says, “and now you’re having a breakdown about what to wear for a date with a guy who wears Levis, like, every day, so I thought maybe that was your problem.  What’s going on? I thought you guys were good? Here, what’s wrong with this one?” 

Alexis reaches for the pile of sweaters and David smacks her grabby hands away. Even in a crisis he is not about to let Alexis make such a critical decision. But she’s obviously trying to be helpful in her way, and besides, he could use a chance to gloat a little over his good fortune, before he inevitably screws it up- there are so many ways he could screw it up; it could even be tonight!- and has to go back to listening to her gloating instead.

“We are good. It’s really good. Actually he’s planned some kind of mystery date thing tonight? He won’t tell me where we’re going, but I think maybe that new sushi place in Elmdale. There really isn’t anything wrong. He just..he’s really sweet, okay? And I’m not…I’m not used to that.”

David stops himself before he can admit too much, but he can’t stop his thoughts whirring ahead. It’s not just the intensity of the connection with Patrick, though that’s definitely a factor. But David has always fallen hard and fast, and so far every time he’s ended up with a mangled heart and a sizable dent in his bank account to show for it. This feels different, in a way that has David off balance, oscillating between anxiously shoring up his battered walls and wanting to tear them down and just luxuriate in the surrounding sunlight of Patrick’s presence. David can’t decide whether it’s like this because of the waiting or because of the trust. He’s starting to think it might be the latter, but either way, it’s terrifying. 

When he glances up at Alexis, embarrassed, she’s watching him with a little smile, her phone still abandoned on the bed. She’s playing with her hair, giving him her full attention, and she blinks at him slowly, like a happy cat. He trusts her, too, he realizes, though he isn’t used to that yet either.  He takes a deep breath, in this brave new world where Alexis listens when he talks, and someone wants to date him, not just sleep with him, and goes on.

 “The thing is, we’re going slow. Which is fine! I can do slow. Like I mean, I haven't before, but I totally can. But then there's his terrible jeans. And his shoulders.” David pauses for a second, thinking about Patrick’s terrible, broad shoulders, and the way they felt under his hands a few nights ago when Patrick took off his shirt in the stock room after hours and let David curl his fingers around them and explore all that new, warm skin and the hard planes of his back. Patrick blushes all the way down his chest when he’s turned on, David discovered, all blotchy red patches that David wants to bite redder and then soothe with a careful tongue. He’s fairly quiet, but the way he bites his lip or covers his face sometimes, and the gasping, stifled sounds that slip through…it makes David wonder if that silence is his natural inclination, or just habit. He wants to keep pushing those buttons til he finds out. He feels like he could spend the rest of his life pushing Patrick’s buttons and never get bored.

“Ew, David!” Alexis leans over from where she’s sitting at the table and smacks him on the leg. “The last time I had to witness a face journey like that it was 1998 and you were talking about Pacey Witter!”

David winces. The last time he _felt_ like this might have been 1998. Trust Alexis to bring up the embarrassing primetime teen dramas of his past when he’s navigating the treacherous waters of personal growth. 

“Okay, fine! I’m sorry his shoulders are the worst! It’s hardly my fault that I wasn’t prepared for this kind of constant assault,” David says, pulling a novel off his nightstand to pack it. “Anyway, we’ve been going slow, but I think we might be about to…ease off the brakes a bit, tonight? We’ve talked about it. He’s good at that. The talking part, I mean.” Which is accurate in more ways than one, but David isn’t going to think about Patrick and _that_ kind of talking with Alexis right there. It’s all been hesitant whispers in the questionable privacy of Ray's spare bedroom so far, anyway, so it's not as if David has much to go on.

“Okay, but that's good, right? I mean, David, you’ve basically never waited this long to sleep with somebody, ” Alexis says. She’s not even trying to be catty. It just comes naturally.

“But I don't know what I'm doing! I mean, I know, like, logistically,” David revises quickly. “The, um, the mechanics of the whole situation are not a problem for me.” Alexis is smirking at him, getting ready to interject, some objectionable remark about David’s slutty past, no doubt, so he raises his voice and forges ahead with a quelling gesture. 

“And it’s not like we haven’t done anything. It’s just that mostly so far I’ve been the one who….It’s all brand new for Patrick. Which is fine! Actually in some cases it’s way better than fine,” David clarifies. “ I mean, you know I didn’t really date in high school.”

Alexis snorts unbecomingly. David glares at her, temporarily sidetracked. 

“Okay, fine, so those JNCO pants were not the best choice I’ve ever made, and the less said about the accessories the better, and maybe that had something to do with the lack of dates, but have a little common decency! I am baring my _soul here_!” 

Alexis rolls her eyes but keeps her mouth shut for once, and David decides to take what he can get. “The point is, it’s never been brand new for anyone, with me. And it’s…surprisingly good, with Patrick. He’s really-” David pauses, searching for the right word, trying for discreet and eventually settling for awkward oversharing instead. “He’s really responsive. I don’t think anyone’s ever wanted me this way. It’s, like, really hot, and really flattering, but also completely terrifying, because we’ve been going so slow and now there are _feelings_ , and it’s all messy in here-” David gestures to his chest with a grimace, “- and he wants to try some things tonight that are brand new for him, which don’t get me wrong, I am _very excited_ to do with him, but what if he doesn’t like it? What if he doesn’t like me enough? Because I am _all in_ , Alexis. I am all in and I haven’t even told him that. I don’t even know how to _say that_! I’ve never felt this way about anybody, much less before they’ve even…” He cuts himself off, biting his lip sharply on that juicy morsel of TMI. Best to preserve some mystery here, especially with Alexis, who would seize on that particular fact with glee and poke and pry until all of David’s mortifying secret sexual insecurities are laid out on the bed like so many rejected sweaters.

Fortunately, Alexis is distracted, and lets it go unremarked. She’s looking at David like he’s an Instagram-famous cat in a sweater, or a basket of adorable puppies that she doesn’t have to take care of. She’s doing her awful, ridiculous tyrannosaurus hands and grinning too widely to be attractive, the way she used to in 1998, before Johannesburg, before South Korea, before David ever had to wire money to an embassy on her behalf, or pick her up from an airport and drive her straight to rehab, or worry about having to identify her body over video chat with the Ugandan police. Even as a hot wave of embarrassment washes over his body, making him regret every word he has just spoken and wish for the ability to time travel back five minutes and rip out his own tongue, David takes a moment to appreciate that look on his sister’s face. At least someone is enjoying themselves in this trying time. He clamps his lips shut on the next humiliating confession threatening to escape past his teeth, and presses a fist over his mouth for good measure. 

“David! I love this for you! I love it so much and it is _so cute_ ,” Alexis gushes. “And I’m going to tell you something you clearly don’t know even though it’s super obvious.” She pauses for effect, raising her eyebrows dramatically. “Patrick is all in, too. When you were going off about Gwyneth’s business plan the other day he was just, like, leaning back and watching you with this little smile and his eyes were just these big cartoon hearts. He knows your diva coffee order and he keeps a spare umbrella in the back at the store for your hair in case it rains. He touches you _all the time_.” She frowns, pressing her lips together critically. “That’s actually kind of gross for me, but if you weren’t my brother it would be pretty spicy.”

“Okay, no. Ew!” David hisses, because really. But then he feels a little bad, because despite the constant needling, Alexis has really come through for him tonight. He feels significantly better than he did before he talked to her. He finds he can’t fight the unfamiliar feeling welling up inside his ribcage, filling his chest with warmth and light and hope and all manner of unrealistic and unexpected emotions. What if she’s right?


	2. You held my hand and we walked home the long way

Patrick is five minutes early, as usual, but for once David isn't running late. Now that he has his nerves about the latter part of this evening temporarily under control, he's curious about what Patrick has planned for the first part. He throws his overnight bag in the back seat of Patrick’s car, berating himself for worrying. Despite their recent conversations about moving forward, they’re likely just going to end up at Ray's place after dinner, as usual, with a better than eighty percent chance that Ray will be feeling chatty and their privacy for the evening will be too limited to do any of the things David is worried about. 

Closing the door, David turns to get into the passenger seat, only to find himself pinned against the car with Patrick’s hands on his hips and Patrick's broad chest right there under his hands. David's breath hitches, and Patrick’s eyes darken and flick to his mouth as he pulls David into a slow, possessive kiss.  He smells good, like the rosemary mint shampoo they stock at the shop, and his hair is still a little damp, like he got straight out of the shower and into the car to pick David up. He slides his hands under the hem of David’s shirt, fingertips dragging over the skin of his lower back, and David shivers and slouches to give Patrick better access to his mouth. The part he didn’t tell Alexis about going slow with Patrick is that it’s like trying to brake on an icy downhill gradient. Patrick is a ruthless tease. Not that David’s complaining. 

“Been wanting to do that all day,” Patrick murmurs against David's mouth, fingers slipping along the waistband of David’s jeans before he pulls away and walks around to the driver’s side door. David stifles a groan and lets himself slump against the car for a moment in a futile attempt to pull himself together. The thing about a lifetime of instant gratification and luxury is that it hasn’t prepared him well for this kind of slow torture, or for how much he likes it now when Patrick shoves him up against a secondhand sedan in a motel parking lot in the dark, and kisses him like he knows him inside out. 

The way he wants Patrick is like nothing he’s ever experienced before, either in intensity or in scope. He wants Patrick to touch him all the time, and Alexis is right- Patrick does, a relentless campaign of subtle physical affection that soothes a place inside David that David didn’t even know was sore. So that’s bad enough already, really, but if it was just that, maybe the wanting wouldn’t be eating him alive the way it is. 

The worst of it, the thing that really makes it unbearable, is the words. It’s the way Patrick volleys back every shot David takes, quick-witted and sharp-edged and just delighted to be laughing with him. It’s how he somehow knows when to be gentle and when to push, careful of every one of David’s scars and open wounds, even the ones he’s still hiding, but also somehow more confident in David than David himself can everc remember being. It’s the unexpected moments of sincerity that disarm David utterly and leave him feeling seen and chosen and achingly vulnerable. And that's the core of it, really, the Schroedinger’s nightmare of it all; David is terrified of that feeling, but he wants it so badly. Every time Patrick makes him feel it, it's agony and ecstasy all at once. It’s the most he’s ever wanted anyone (and worse, maybe the most he’s ever needed anyone) and they haven’t even fucked yet. What is David supposed to do with that?

*****

In the car, they talk about work, but Patrick’s hand keeps landing a little higher on David’s thigh every time the road allows it, and it’s distracting and amazing. David shifts in his seat and tries to decide if he wants to hide how easily Patrick is getting to him, or be obvious about it and see where that takes them. It’s the same dilemma he faces every time he’s with Patrick lately, deflection or vulnerability, and it’s getting harder to make the safe, self-protective choices he’s used to, when Patrick’s reactions are so gorgeous every time David slips up and lets him in. 

David watches headlights flash by on Patrick’s face as he focuses on the road, and tells himself to keep it together. They’re in the car, maybe nowhere near their destination, and probably headed somewhere public, so if this goes any farther he’s just going to be torturing himself. He’s going to be responsible and show some self-control for once, he decides. Except that Patrick’s hand is warm and patient, so close to where he wants it, and they’re alone, for once, in the dark of the car, and David is only human. He lets his legs fall a little wider, tilts his head back against the seat, and closes his eyes against the overwhelming rush of heat he feels when Patrick takes advantage, tracing up the inseam of David’s skinny jeans with careful, confident fingers. Patrick keeps his eyes on the quiet road, but trails off midsentence and draws in a shaky breath when he finds that David is already getting hard for him. When he speaks next, it's in a choked murmur,

“Fuck, David, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Listen,” David retorts, “You're the one with the wandering hands. I’m just over here being very good and using all of my limited self control not to turn this into an inadvisable road head situation.”

Patrick laughs, but he doesn't move his hand. Of course he doesn't. 

“Is that a— have you done that?”

“At this point I think you should assume that if it's self destructive and slutty, the odds are good I’ve done it at least twice,” David says ruefully, and then immediately regrets his lack of internal censor. He risks a glance at Patrick, whose face has turned serious and thoughtful. Shit. David’s stomach clenches. Patrick isn’t ready to hear about David’s past like this, might never be, with his hometown, highschool girlfriend-turned fiancée, and his first kiss with David that felt like a first time. He's responsible and safe and kind and definitely not prepared to deal with David's dumpster fire of a dating history, especially not when David throws it in his face without warning.

David covers his face with both hands and talks through his fingers so he doesn't have to look at Patrick’s sweet face when he hears terrible things. “What I mean is, yes, I have done that, but you should forget all the other stuff I just said. I was saving that particular shameful revelation for the distant future.” Why the fuck did he bring up road head? Why didn't he laugh it off? Knee-jerk honesty has never worked out for him, and yet for some stupid, stupid reason he still does it, still impulsively spits out these awkward, horrible, personal confessions framed in the least flattering way.  Now Patrick will figure out even faster that David is damaged goods and not worth holding on to, much less looking at the way Patrick sometimes does, hopeful and adoring all at once. God. David was just getting used to that look, starting to let himself look back, and now he’s going to have to give it up. He rubs his hands over his face roughly, anxiety spiraling. He has no one but himself to blame here. 

Patrick lifts his hand off David's leg, which is fine because David has just killed the mood for the next five eternities, and uses it to take one of the hands David is hiding behind and hold it instead. He kisses it -fuck, why? He’s going to make David cry, which is the only way this could possibly get worse- and then lets their joined hands rest between them, behind the gear shift. David keeps his eyes closed and bites down on the knuckle of the hand that isn't captured, wishing he could have this conversation via text or, even better, not at all, ever. 

Patrick is quiet for what feels like far too long, and David dies inside a little more with every second of that agonizing silence.  Finally, Patrick takes a deep breath and says softly, “You haven’t done anything I’m going to think less of you for, David.”

David scoffs. “You’re missing a few too many key facts to be able to say that for sure.”

“No, hang on, just listen.” Patrick adjusts his one-handed grip on the wheel,   still not looking at David. “I’ve been avoiding talking about this even though I know better, because I’ve felt embarrassed about my inexperience, but we need to talk about it. You’ve made a couple of comments about your past, and I think you might be making some assumptions about how I’m going to react.” Patrick squeezes his hand at that, a non-verbal apology, and then lets go, replaces his hand on the steering wheel, and barrels on without letting David interject, still watching the road. “Which is just as much my fault. I haven’t given you anything to go on, and that wasn’t fair. So let me talk for a minute.” He pauses, nervous, or at least thoughtful, and David bites his tongue hard. If Patrick needs him to listen, he’ll listen, even though not controlling this conversation is actually killing him right now. 

“You say you’ve done self destructive things in the past,” Patrick continues. His voice is low and hesitant. “Okay. Let’s talk about self destructive. The things we’ve done together…this is really the first time in my life I’ve had sex that isn’t self destructive, one way or another. I’ve had a lot of sex I regret, sex where I felt like I was using the other person or they were using me, or like it didn’t mean the same thing for both of us. If you’ve had some sex like that in the past, too, well, then we're on even footing. Maybe the actual acts were different, but that’s not the important part anyway. I swear, it doesn’t change anything for me, whatever you’ve done or not done. I’m never going to judge you for it.” 

Patrick stops there, and for a long moment David thinks he might be finished. He opens his mouth to say something, probably something stupid and self-deprecating and in no way an appropriate response to Patrick’s compassionate, reasonable assessment of the situation, but then Patrick takes a shuddering breath and goes on.

“For a long time, no matter what I tried, sex was the part of my life where I felt the most broken, the most wrong. And then I met you, and with you, everything is different. I want you all the time, David. It’s actually ridiculous how much I think about it. I want to make you feel good, any way I can.” Patrick pauses again, shifting his shoulders restlessly, then continues roughly, “The way you’ve changed my world, it’s the least I can do.” 

He clears his throat, abashed, and finally glances over at David then, giving him just enough time to register warm, anxious brown eyes before turning back to the road with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not trying to make it all about me, I swear. It's just, I think maybe you're not clear on how hard it's gonna be for you to screw this up.” 

David bites his lip, lost for words. Patrick just says these things, sometimes, opens his mouth and gives them to David like a gift. David likes gifts, but he’s never really gotten the hang of accepting them graciously. He has to try, though, because Patrick’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and David knows what it costs him to be honest when he’d rather hide. So David opens his mouth, resigned to embarrassing himself so that this awful sincerity can be over and Patrick can resume his usual program of gleefully winding David up at every opportunity. 

“Um. So what I’m getting is that I can stop expecting you to clutch your pearls at the slightest hint of my sordid sexual past, and also I can go back to showing up late on Mondays, because apparently I’m just so hot that I’ve blinded you to my many flaws?”

“Don’t even pretend you don’t love Monday mornings. You have to be there by the time the stitch and bitch ladies come in,” Patrick says firmly, taking none of David's shit, as usual. But that's okay, because they’re apparently done being earnest for now, and David can hear the relief in Patrick’s voice. “Otherwise you would miss out on hearing what Eleanor’s cats got up to on the weekend, and we can’t have that. You need to keep flirting with her, because I think the only explanation for the price she’s giving us on those shawls is that you’ve somehow blinded _her_ to your many flaws.” 

“Mmmhmm. With all the hotness. And of course our deal with Eleanor has nothing to do with the way you’ve insinuated yourself as pro-bono tech support every time she can’t open the attachments on an email from her grandkids,” David retorts. “You’ll troubleshoot anyone’s yahoo account if the price is right, you tramp.”

Patrick laughs and sets his hand back on David’s thigh, casual and confident, and oh, David loves it when Patrick touches him like this, like he has every right to do so, like David belongs to him so thoroughly that he doesn’t even have to  hesitate. Leaning back in the passenger seat, he watches Patrick’s handsome, expressive face in profile, the embarrassed flush lingering on his cheeks, the way the sunset brings out the red in his hair and the gold in his eyes. David feels something ease in his chest, thinking of all those awful, wonderful things Patrick just said. Maybe this time, for once. Maybe this new and lovely thing is his to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments!


	3. I tilted your cloud, you tilted my hand

Patrick slows the car and turns onto a dirt road surrounded by trees, and David can’t contain his growing apprehension any more. He’ll blame it on too many feelings before dinner.

“Okay, I know this is a surprise and all, but I’m beginning to have doubts, based on the absence of streetlights and civilization. Where are we going, Patrick?” David has seen enough romcoms to know that demanding an itinerary for the big romantic gesture is not the done thing, but this is real life, and Patrick should know better than to want to spend the evening alone with David when he’s hangry, so a few questions need to be asked, here. “And more importantly, will there be dinner? Because I definitely need to eat something soon and your emergency granola bar stash is not going to cut it.”

Patrick just laughs and squeezes David’s thigh again, comfortingly. “I know granola bars are not an acceptable meal substitute.” 

The car rolls to a stop in a large clearing. The last few rays of sunlight illuminate the dome of a yellow tent pitched in the middle of the open space. Beside it are a picnic table covered with a checkered blue and white tablecloth, a pair of camp chairs, and a fire pit with a pile of sticks arranged inside. There’s a string of twinkle lights around the front of the tent, and several strategically placed, softly glowing solar lanterns. David doesn't spend a lot of time on the outdoorsy, DIY side of Instagram, but he can appreciate the aesthetic. He finds suddenly that he can’t control his face. His mouth is trying to grin entirely without his consent. 

It’s difficult, because on the one hand, David is immediately wary of the idea of sleeping outside, with only a flimsy sheet of nylon between himself and a whole forest full of things with too many legs and eyes. Patrick probably spent his childhood catching those things by the creek and bringing them home in jars, but the extensively landscaped grounds at the Rose family home on the Bridle Path in Toronto had not featured a creek, and in any case David had been the sort of child much more likely to be found curled up in the well-furnished library, reading. Which is to say that Patrick, whose acquaintance with David began after David had already learned to operate a washing machine, probably doesn’t appreciate that living at the motel is already basically camping, as far as David is concerned. Patrick obviously planned this date with nothing but good intentions, but he’s still a little off target.

On the other hand, though, Patrick planned all of this for them, and David is finding out that he’s weak for Patrick’s practical, organized side, and even weaker for his romantic side. And this is a grand romantic gesture to rival any rom com. Not to mention that they’re much less likely to be interrupted out here than anywhere else, and that’s a very significant upside. David decides that, on balance, he’d better resolve to be charmed rather than contrary, and see how it goes. Worst case scenario, they can always pack up and drive back to Ray’s later on.

He sneaks a sideways look at Patrick, and finds him looking right back, smiling that wide-open smile that never fails to make David’s heart race a little. He knows what he did, David thinks, twisting his mouth to the side in a futile attempt to control the inconvenient grin. Best not to let him off too easily, though.

“This is a bold move, considering I’m pretty sure we’ve talked about how I feel about nature,” he says, as Patrick turns off the car. It’s not a very effective admonition, because David can’t keep the delight out of his voice.

“I think you’ll find it’s worth it. I’ve got a carefully balanced nature-to-comfort ratio going,” Patrick replies archly. “This is actually one of Ray's listings. There's a well already with a functional tap, so we can wash up. There are some very nice sheets on the air mattress in that tent, and I made that saffron potato salad you like again, and ribs. We can heat the ribs up on the fire.” 

David is still not enthused about the juxtaposition of the words “nice sheets” and “air mattress,” and he doubts that the tap Patrick mentioned will suffice for even an abbreviated version of his evening skincare routine. He has to admit, though, that the details about dinner go a long way towards assuaging his doubts about this whole wilderness survival situation. 

One of the best and most unexpected benefits of dating Patrick has been that he can cook, real recipes with multiple ingredients and processes even more complex than folding in cheese. He’s used Ray’s kitchen to make dinner for David a few times now, and even the unfortunate necessity of eating with Ray on these occasions doesn’t make it any less amazing. If David wasn’t already in hopelessly over his head with Patrick, the saffron potato salad would have done it. He can’t help who he is, and it’s especially effective because nobody in all his long and somewhat disappointing relationship history has ever tried to win him over with food. Most of them wouldn’t have known how to cook even if they’d wanted to, and no one has ever wanted to. Where did Patrick even get saffron in Schitt’s Creek? But he’s continuing already, and David doesn’t want to miss any of this extremely important information. 

“And I got the really good dark chocolate from that place in Elmdale, so we can make banana boats and s’mores for dessert.” Patrick fiddles with his keys and looks up at David from under his eyelashes. It’s unfairly sexy, made even worse by the fact that David has kissed Patrick after sharing that chocolate, and now he’s thinking about doing it again. It’s going to be a long night. David can’t wait. 

“That's actually where I got the idea in the first place,” Patrick says, “last week when you said you’d never had s’mores. I knew you had a different kind of childhood, David, but until then I didn't know just how deprived you’d been.” 

He unbuckles his seat belt and leans over to kiss David sweetly on the mouth. When he starts to pull away, David catches the front of his shirt, kissing him deeper, til Patrick gives in to it. He doesn't have words for what he wants to say, but he tries to pour all his gratitude and hope and desire into the kiss. When they finally part, Patrick’s cheeks are flushed and he’s smiling a little dazedly.

David kisses him again. He can't help himself.

“That’s for getting the good chocolate.” 

“I knew I had to offset all the fresh air somehow,” Patrick says distractedly, glancing down at David's mouth like he can't quite tear his eyes away. “You know what else is great about this tent in the middle of the woods, though?”

“Um, is it the dirt and sticks and rocks everywhere? The lack of climate control? The pervasive odour of bug spray?”

Patrick looks delighted, the way he often does when David is especially bratty or dramatic. “In fact, it's none of those things, though I’m glad you truly appreciate all the trouble I went to to set this up.” 

David makes a face at him, but Patrick goes on, undaunted. “The most important feature of this tent is that Ray, Alexis, and your parents have no idea where it is.” His voice drops on the last few words as he leans in, bracing a hand high on David's thigh, and presses a long, biting kiss into the curve of his neck, where it meets his shoulder. David gasps and twists in his seat as Patrick sucks and drags his teeth over the sensitive skin there. It's slow and thorough and excruciatingly good, and Patrick went to all this trouble so they could sleep on rocks and dirt in the woods tonight and probably get eaten by bears, and David still can’t help it, he appreciates him. He appreciates him _so much_. It's probably too soon, but that has never mattered to David's reckless, stupid heart before, so why should it matter now, when for once the way it's slamming against his ribs might not be an unmitigated disaster? 

Several long seconds later, Patrick finishes torturing David and gets out to start unpacking the car. David gets out too, and finds himself just looking bemusedly up at the sunset colours in the sky, the dark silhouettes of the trees, and the glow of the lit-up tent in the midst of it all. It’s remarkably beautiful, all this nature. Okay. Surprise camping date, okay, apparently that's something he likes now? He takes a deep breath of fresh, pine-scented air. His heart in his chest feels like it's wrapped in twinkle lights too, glowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overall, this fic is about 50 percent porn and 50 percent feelings (and no plot to speak of, obviously!) and I don't want to say we're done with the feelings because these two are never done with the feelings, it's what I love about them- but the next chapter is maybe more like a 60:40 porn to feelings ratio. Maybe 70:30. And I have not written that before and it doesn't exactly come naturally, so I'm not quite done fighting with Chapter 4 yet. It should be up by the weekend.


	4. I saw the constellations reveal themselves

Patrick is wearing a flashlight on his head. It's bright green and attached with an elastic strap, and it’s convenient, he says, because it leaves his hands free to carry things. Just now he is carrying the dinner plates over to the dark corner of the clearing where the pump house and the attached tap are located. Presumably his hands will also be free for fighting off the bears that are probably lurking just outside the ring of firelight, waiting for their chance. David has thus far refrained, with difficulty, from commenting on the flashlight (he may have mentioned the bears) but he is beginning to suspect that the awful chunky boots and the pocketknife Patrick always seems to have handy are just scratching the surface when it comes to his outdoorsiness. David hasn’t seen a pair of cargo shorts yet, but they haunt his dreams like a khaki Sword of Damocles. What if Patrick likes hiking? He probably likes hiking, fuck. David does not have a cute hiking wardrobe, and he doesn’t have the budget to build one, anymore, even if such a thing could somehow be achieved. 

The dinner plates are another example. They’re made of some kind of blue speckled metal, and Patrick just happened to have them on hand, like the headlamp and the lighter and the rest of the contents of the plastic bin full of gear that he must have decided were important enough to warrant space in his car when he moved to Schitt’s Creek. There was a significant quantity of rope in the bin, too, which David would like to know more about, please, except that probably the answer has something to do with tents and not any of the things David is imagining, all of them unspeakable in polite company and too kinky to admit to his recently-out not-quite boyfriend. 

David works hard to keep those qualifiers solidly attached to the word ‘boyfriend’ whenever he thinks it about Patrick, which is happening disconcertingly often recently. It’s a defensive measure, to make the word stick in his throat. He’s afraid it’s going to just slip out one day when he’s not paying attention, and he’s not sure he’s ready to admit to it. Well. He’s not sure Patrick’s ready, really. Maybe “boyfriend” is a lot, when you’ve never had one before. David knows he’s already a lot. He does what he can to mitigate it, although so far Patrick never seems to mind when he forgets. 

On the bright side, mud, spiders, and bears aside, this whole situation is giving David lots of new material for the already-extensive mental checklist he keeps of things Patrick can do with his hands. Tonight’s first checklist item was the fire-building, which turned out to be really unreasonably attractive on a number of levels. Patrick being quietly competent and taking care of David was always going to be hot, but kneeling in the dirt, with his worn WindRiver T-shirt stretching over his broad, hard back as he coaxed the fire to life, he was a revelation. David has thought a lot about Patrick on his knees, but until tonight he never had a real-life visual to go along with it. It was devastating, even from a distance, and not just because David is now having to revise several long-held personal beliefs about people who buy clothes at Canadian Tire. 

David likes Patrick’s hands a lot. He wants them all over his skin, twisted in his hair, wrapped around his cock, and Patrick gives him all of that and more besides, teasing and pinching and scratching, and once, last week, shoving his fingers into David’s mouth, fucking them slowly in and out, in time with his other hand on David’s cock, until David finally came all over himself with a muffled moan. Really, David doesn’t need anything else. Patrick’s hands could be more than enough for a lifetime, but David is so, so lucky, because Patrick wants to give him more.

They’ve talked about it a little, and David has jerked off about it a lot. The conversations they've had about Patrick sucking David's cock have mostly been more dirty than serious, but David thinks it's probably helping Patrick psych himself up. David likes Patrick a lot- is probably half in love with him already, if he's honest with himself, which he generally tries to avoid-  but he's realized by now that Patrick isn't nearly as confident as he often seems. He rarely asks for what he needs or wants unless he's sure the answer is yes, and he's so well-practiced at deflecting that when he wants to hide his real feelings, they are nearly undetectable to himself or anyone else. And he doesn't like operating without a plan. So David doesn't mind helping Patrick work it out verbally, if it makes it easier for him. It's not like it's any kind of hardship, with Patrick’s warm, capable hands on him the whole time.

Patrick turns off the headlamp as he comes back over, and pulls it down to hang around his neck as he sits down. His hair is a little dissheveled from the band, and it’s not a cute look, so why does David find it cute? He presses his lips together to hide his moonstruck smile, and turns sideways on the bench to face Patrick.

“Okay. Earlier this evening, I had my doubts about this wilderness adventure you’ve arranged for us, but that dinner was definitely a decent start on convincing me to sleep on inflatable plastic in the woods. The s’mores were pretty good too,” David says, though that’s an understatement. The s’mores were fucking delicious, a gooey-sweet, crunchy mess elevated to utter perfection by the bitter notes of the expensive chocolate Patrick selected. But Patrick’s already pretty smug about this whole camping date thing. David trails his fingers over the back of Patrick’s neck, listening with satisfaction to the way his breath hitches at the teasing contact. “Remind me why we had to be outside to eat the s’mores?”

If dragging David off into the bear- and bug-infested woods will help Patrick feel more confident about trying out new sex things, well, then David thinks it's a small price to pay. But that’s not going to stop him giving Patrick shit about it. 

“Wow, David. If I hadn’t just witnessed you devour three in a row while making noises usually reserved for more adult activities, I’d almost think this whole dinner wasn’t up to your standards. Guess I’ll have to get something from Café Tropical to go next time instead.” Patrick tilts his head, poker-faced. 

“Um, you don’t have to do that. I mean, if you wanted to make the ribs or the salad again, or you know, try out some other recipes, I would be—open to that. If you wanted,” David backpedals quickly, aware that Patrick is yanking his chain, but also willing to sacrifice his dignity if that is what’s required for continued access to Patrick’s cooking. 

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want you to feel like you had to fake gratitude, though,” Patrick says with a grin. He has absolutely no right to be so attractive.

“No faking, I promise. I can show you how grateful I am,” David offers playfully, smoothing his hand down the long muscles of Patrick’s back. The first time Patrick made dinner for them at Ray’s, he drove David home after, and David made him pull over on a dark side road so he could blow him in the backseat of his secondhand sedan. It wasn’t really about the potato salad. Well. Maybe twenty percent. But mostly it was just about Patrick, always about Patrick. Who’s looking at him right now with dark, amused eyes, biting his lip. 

“Actually, ah, I had something else in mind tonight. If it's okay with you,” he says softly, shuffling closer on the bench. He braces one hand on David's thigh and curls the fingers of the other hesitantly under the hem of David’s sweater. David feels his heartrate ratchet up, but he holds still, willing himself calm, because Patrick needs him calm.

“Patrick. It's okay with me. Anything you want to try is okay with me.”

There's a long silence. Patrick keeps his hands on David, gripping his thigh, rucking up his shirt to stroke his lower back in long, slow movements as the mood between them shifts to something quiet and honest. David waits. Sometimes it takes Patrick a while to know what to say. He’s quick as lightning when it comes to barbs and teasing, but when it’s real, he needs time. Patrick presses his lips to David’s throat for a long moment, then draws back to look him in the eyes. His face is serious and open, nothing hidden behind a smile for once, and his eyes are soft. Cartoon hearts, just like Alexis said. It’s difficult for David to hold his gaze; he feels exposed and tender and terrified all at once, the agonized joy that only Patrick has ever made him feel overwhelming him, making him want to tear himself away and run, or else press in closer, crawl inside and stay forever, safe. It would be embarrassing to admit how many times David has kissed Patrick just to escape the softness in his eyes. 

Maybe Patrick can see him struggling this time, because he takes David’s face in his hands, helping him hold on. 

“I know it’s okay. Thank you. You always make it okay, sweetheart.” Patrick leans closer and kisses him languidly and thoroughly, licking into his mouth slowly, savouring it. David opens for him and gives Patrick everything he can, already more than a little desperate for it after hours of teasing touches and anticipation, but Patrick keeps the kiss slow and gentle. David chases his mouth when he finally draws back, until Patrick presses their foreheads together, his nose brushing David’s, their mouths a breath apart. 

“You make it hard to concentrate,” Patrick murmurs. David can hear him smiling. “But I have a plan for tonight. Don’t you want to hear my plan, David?”

David bites Patrick’s shoulder, maybe a little harder than he meant to, but Patrick just groans and presses into it. “Oh, I very much do,” David says.  “I like your plans. Please elaborate.” 

“Okay. First, I want to get on my knees for you. I want to suck you, David. I think about it all the time. I don’t want to wait anymore,” Patrick says, low and unequivocal, though there’s a catch in his voice that betrays his nerves.

David thought he was braced to hear it, but he has to catch his breath anyway. Fuck. Apparently Patrick is done for the night with sweet and hesitant.  David turns his head for a kiss, but Patrick only allows it for a brief, intoxicating moment before he’s got his hand in David’s hair, guiding David’s head to the side so he can get at the juncture of David’s neck and shoulder, nuzzling there with a scrape of stubble that makes David squirm. 

“Mmmm, yes please. That sounds like a really good plan. The best plan,” David manages.

“I’m really glad you like it,” Patrick says sincerely. “I had an inkling.”

“An inkling?”

“More like a hunch. A strong suspicion, even,” Patrick replies dryly. “David, that wasn't subtle, when I was building the fire. Your eyes were pretty much glazed over. I had to say your name three times to get you to hand me the lighter.”

“It wasn't three times! I was just…” David trails off, mentally replaying the hot, amused look Patrick had cast up at him, there on his knees by the fire pit, his hand reaching out for the lighter as he repeated David's name. Three times. “Um. Maybe it was three. But I was distracted. By the natural beauty of our surroundings?” he tries. Patrick just laughs at him. 

“Mmmhmm. Yes, it is very beautiful here, thanks for noticing.” He grins at David, then looks away. “Also, I kind of guessed from the way you’ve been reacting when we talked about it. You’ve been really patient even though I’ve been- that's not what I mean, I don't mean you’ve made me feel like I had to rush, you haven't at all- just that it was obvious you—liked the idea. And I do too. I can't stop thinking about it, like I said. So I was planning this anyway.” He looks up at David again, eyes crinkled at the corners. “And then when I was on the ground looking up at you—it was very obvious, that's all.”  

This is a lot, and David is just doing his best to keep up. “So, wait, can we go back for a second? You knew what you were doing, even like, before then? You were aware that getting on your knees in front of me like that was tantamount to  torture? What about last week, with the icecream,” he demands, his voice rising incredulously, “was that planned? And the thing with the beer bottle at Ray’s?”

Patrick looks up through his eyelashes, not at all innocent, but maybe a little contrite. “David.” He bites his lip. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I didn’t plan any of it, exactly— I just really liked seeing how much you want me. That part of dating— it’s never felt like this before, for me.”

David remembers the first time he figured out how to make someone want him so badly it showed. It was a powerful feeling. It happened a long time ago, for David, but Patrick’s been on a different timeline when it comes to sex. David guesses he can give him some leeway. It’s not like it hasn’t been good, anyway, and now that they’ve talked about it it’s going to be even better, because basically the only thing David can think of that’s hotter than Patrick teasing him by accident is Patrick teasing him on purpose. David takes a breath.

“It’s okay. From now on I’ll just assume the relentless sexual torment is intentional, and we’ll be on the same page.” David decides it’s best to be really explicit about this even though his stomach twists at the idea of it. Enthusiastic consent is important, after all, and David’s starting to get the idea that maybe talking about sex is newer for Patrick than he’s been letting on. 

“You should feel free to keep teasing me, by the way. I like it, Patrick. Or was that part not obvious?” David kisses him, letting himself get a little mean with his teeth on Patrick’s lower lip. 

“No. It was,” Patrick gasps. “It was obvious, and I— I liked that. That’s why I didn’t stop. But that doesn’t,” he stumbles over his words a little, “um, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have checked in with you about it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” David says again, magnanimously. “Tell me more about the plan.”

“The plan.” Patrick licks his lips. “Well, ah, we can either stay out here— I’ve got some blankets, and if anybody drives in we’ll hear them coming a long way off—or we can go in the tent if you’d rather.”

David considers both possibilities. It’s a warm summer night- he’s been too warm in his light sweater, actually, so it won’t be a hardship to take it off, or other things, if that’s what Patrick wants. Then he thinks about his methodical, organized boyfriend.  Patrick probably has a list, numbered with checkboxes and everything, like his checklists for the store. David should probably worry more that he finds that idea distressingly hot, but instead he just feels very motivated to help Patrick check all those boxes.

“Which one was Plan A?”

“Hmmm?” 

“I mean, I know you’ve got a whole flow chart for this evening laid out somewhere. And I’m good with either option. So which of them was the one you liked best? Which one was Plan A?” What David doesn’t say is that in the context of all the ridiculous things he’s ever done for the sake of sex, getting his dick sucked outdoors on private property doesn’t even make the top ten. More to the point, it’s Patrick, sweet, responsible, beautiful Patrick, who might as well be holding David’s aching heart in his careful hands, although he doesn’t know it yet. David has done a thousand things with a thousand people, but he’s never felt like this. He’d let Patrick suck his dick in an active volcano, or the fluorescent-lit food court at a discount mall, if that was what Patrick wanted for his first time. So it’s really up to Patrick here. 

The corners of Patrick’s mouth curve down over a fond smile. “That’s easy, then. Let me go get a blanket.” He rises from the bench, then turns back and bends over David, drawing him up into a rough kiss. “Right back,” says Patrick. David watches his ass as he walks away, and gets to work on managing his expectations.

There are just so many ways this could go wrong, is the thing. And David is an expert at the fine art of expecting the worst so as not to be disappointed.  Patrick could discover he hates the feeling of having a cock in his mouth and realize he’s straighter than he thought. He could make a break for the car and leave David here in the woods alone to get eaten by bears. This seems fairly unlikely given their history so far, but David likes to be prepared. Patrick could get nervous and back out, then get embarrassed and cut the night short, leaving David back at the motel with Alexis interrogating him about his date gone wrong. David could say something wrong or do something wrong in the heat of the moment to make Patrick question his choices, leading to the slow but inevitable decline of their relationship until finally they break up in a month or two and David has to go back to medicating his loneliness with cheap wine and the last of his stash of pharmaceuticals. 

Patrick returns, brandishing a plaid blanket. He catches David’s hand, pulls him off the picnic bench into a quick, hot kiss, then spreads the blanket over the bench and gets to work on the button fly of David’s skinny jeans. It’s all very efficient, and David is grateful for it, because it pulls him away from the terrible places his brain seems to want to go. He lets Patrick kiss him and shove an eager hand into the front of his jeans to squeeze his swelling cock, lets Patrick laugh into his mouth and guide him back towards the picnic table, lets Patrick slide both hands down the back of his jeans and shove them halfway down his thighs before pushing him down on the blanketed bench. Patrick drops to his knees in front of David, grinning open-mouthed and breathing hard, and David isn’t thinking about anything that could go wrong, because how could this go wrong? Everything about this is perfect.

Patrick goes to pull David’s pants off the rest of the way and stops with a huff of laughter.

“Forgot about the shoes?” David asks brightly.

“Yes,” Patrick replies serenely. “They’re just so nondescript, I lost track of them for a moment.”

The shoes in question are white-on-white Rick Owens high-tops with a metallic silver detail across the front, and Patrick is a saucy little shit. He unlaces the shoes carefully and sets them on the far end of the picnic bench, then works David’s socks and jeans off, folds them, and places them carefully on top of the shoes. 

“How much can I undress you? Can I have you naked?” Patrick asks softly, running his hands up the muscles of David’s calves and leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his kneecap.

David shivers at the thought of being naked here while Patrick kneels in front of him, fully dressed down to his awful hiking boots. He nods. 

“You can have that. If you want.”

Patrick smiles and pushes David’s knees further apart. “I want it,” he confirms huskily, more confident now. “Take off your shirt for me, David.”

David complies, and Patrick surges up to kiss him, his hands greedy on David’s exposed skin. He always kisses like he’s been lost in a desert, and David is cool water, or the first shade in miles. His barely-leashed desperation is riveting, but also terribly sad, if David lets himself think about it too much. He hates thinking of all the years Patrick couldn’t have what he needed, didn’t even know how badly he needed it. And Patrick is so collected, most of the time, that David can forget how new this all is for him. He holds David’s hand on the street like it’s nothing, and when they go out to dinner together Patrick’s hand always finds its way to David’s back, subtly proprietary. Everyone in town knows about them by now, and Patrick has never showed any hesitation or awkwardness about that. 

But when Patrick kisses him, David remembers. Patrick looks up at David with his whole heart written in his warm brown eyes. He holds on to David like David is something precious; he’s all eager hands and fervent, searching touches, like David’s body is an unexpected gift he won’t be allowed to keep for long. He kisses with a devastating combination of reverence and longing that David has never encountered before, not in a thousand other kisses. It’s too soon, but he thinks maybe he’ll never find it again anywhere else. That even if he could win back everything he’s lost, he’d be poorer for it if he had to lose this in return.

Patrick slides his hands down to grip David’s wrists, then presses David back over the picnic table and guides his arms out to the sides, so that David’s hands are braced on the table palms down, and his body is spread out for Patrick in a backwards arch. 

“Can you stay like that for me? I want to touch you for a while,” Patrick says, already running his hands possessively up David’s unprotected sides, and dragging them back down with a hint of fingernails. It’s entirely unfair, and David loves it. 

“Mmmm, yes, please,” he manages, keeping his hands where Patrick put them. A week ago in the shower, picturing this moment, David had predicted the teasing and the torturously slow pace. He’d even guessed at the joy and the eagerness, because by now he’s familiar with the way Patrick goes practically incandescent every time they try something new together. The thing he hadn’t factored in is the way Patrick pays attention—to everything, but perhaps especially to David. Everything he’s done so far is calculated to keep David breathless and at his mercy, and it’s working so, so well.

“That’s so good. Thank you, gorgeous.” Patrick rewards David with a sharp pinch to one nipple, followed by a wet, biting kiss to the other. He presses an open hand to the centre of David’s chest and strokes up his neck, forcing David’s head back and pressing his thumb to David’s lower lip, exerting gentle downward pressure until David’s mouth falls open. Patrick pushes two fingers inside, stroking over David’s tongue. At this angle, David can’t really suck, so he just whines and lets Patrick explore his mouth. Finally, Patrick withdraws his wet fingers and trails them back down to David’s nipples, where he begins to tease in earnest, flicking his thumbnails over them, then patiently pinching and rolling til David’s breath is coming in harsh gasps. David writhes, barely noticing the way his back scrapes against the table, and Patrick changes tactics, bowing his head to lick and suck, then closing his teeth carefully around one hardened peak, sending sharp shocks of pleasure to David’s aching, untouched cock. When Patrick finally reaches down and closes his hand around it, David is so lost in his own pleasure that he almost misses the sound Patrick makes, a sobbing, relieved breath, like he needed that touch just as much, like he feels it too.

Suddenly, Patrick pushes in as close as he can, tucking his head under David’s chin and heaving in deep breaths of David’s sweaty skin, reaching up to retrieve David’s arms from where they’re still braced on the table and pulling him forward into a desperate embrace. Five years ago, if he’d sensed this kind of shift in mood from a sex partner, David would have gladly chewed off his own arm to escape the situation, but somehow now he finds himself overwhelmed with tenderness instead. He’s nearly shaking with curbed arousal, but he curls his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and waits him out. 

“I love this,” Patrick murmurs unevenly into the hollow of David’s throat, soft as a secret. “I don’t know how I ever...” He breaks off with a harsh breath, pulling back just enough to catch David’s mouth in a quick, hard kiss. “I’m just so glad I found you, David Rose.”

To his credit, Patrick recovers pretty quickly after that, pulling his own shirt off over his head and leaning forward to set his teeth to David’s skin in a series of sharp little nips that David knows from experience will leave a beautiful trail of marks the next day. He moans, and Patrick laughs softly.

“Like that?”

“You know I do,” David says, trying not to sound impatient. “You know what else I’d like?” 

Patrick hums and kisses David’s collarbone sweetly. “I think I can guess. Lift up?” he says, smacking David’s hip lightly. David does, and Patrick slides off David’s underwear, lifting the band carefully over his cock, giving him no friction at all. Then, without further warning, he leans in and licks generously around the head, collecting fat, silvery drops of precome with a curious tongue. David grips the edge of the bench with white knuckles and does his best to hold still. 

Patrick hums quietly and goes back for more, getting bolder with his tongue, closing his lips wetly around the tip of David’s cock. He sucks gently at first, his tongue rubbing softly at the sensitive place just underneath the head, sending sparks shooting through David with every movement. Patrick’s eyes are closed and blissful, his expression still and concentrated, and David thinks, looking down at him, that he’s never seen anything so lovely and so filthy at the same time. Then Patrick opens his eyes and looks up at David, and David’s heart judders at the hazy contentment in his gaze. 

Patrick swirls his tongue and takes David a little deeper, keeping up a slow, coaxing pressure and sliding one hand back to cup David’s balls. The fingernails of his other hand dig in to the sensitive skin of David’s inner thigh, five sharp points of sensation to offset the slick, excruciating pleasure of Patrick’s hot mouth surrounding him. The arch of his neck is beautiful as he slides his mouth up and down David's shaft, slow as pouring honey. His cheeks hollow as he sucks harder, looking up, and David can't not be touching him any more. He traces the reddened shell of Patrick's ear, strokes the soft, short hair at his temples, then lets his fingertips settle on the pale stretch of Patrick's neck, just to feel his throat move as he swallows.

“Fuck, Patrick. That’s so good. I need— can I kiss you? I want to kiss you,” David gasps.

Patrick pulls off, licking his lips. “Yeah. Christ, of course.” He kneels up as David bends forward to kiss him, catching Patrick’s face in his hands and licking into his red, red mouth. David kisses him hungrily, sucking sharply on his lower lip, until they’re both breathless.

“Oh my god. Your mouth. That feels so good. Is it okay? Do you like it?” David can’t help asking, even though he thinks he knows the answer. He touches Patrick's lips, his cheekbones, his jaw, just little fleeting touches, feeling the heat of Patrick's blush as Patrick presses his cheek into David's hand, adoring. Patrick smiles up at him, looking thrilled and embarrassed in equal measure. 

“David. I like it, so much— can’t you tell? What, were you worried?”

“No,” David lies. “But I’m— I’m really glad. I wanted you to like it.”

“I knew I would, with you,” Patrick says simply. He kneels up a little, bracing his arm over David’s thigh, and kisses the head of David’s cock, wet and slow and so, so dirty that David whines involuntarily and fights not to shove forward into Patrick’s mouth. 

“I wasn’t worried,” David reiterates, when he can catch his breath. “I was just—prepared for all the, um, eventualities.”

“Do you want to talk now, or do you want to let me suck you some more?” Patrick’s voice is low and amused. 

“Oh, fuck, I want you to suck me. Please, Patrick,” David says.

Patrick goes back down, deeper this time, and David feels the head of his cock hit the back of Patrick’s throat, feels the flutter as Patrick swallows carefully, and a hint of teeth as he adjusts the angle, then pulls back only to take David deeper on the next stroke. He’s going slowly, but the wet, silky feel of his tongue and the gentle intermittent suction are almost too much, anyway. David groans, stroking the stubbled line of Patrick’s jaw and the hollow of his cheek as he sucks. It’s been a long time since he had this, a long time since anyone put their mouth on him like this. Jake had been more interested in other things, and to be honest Schitt’s Creek has been kind of a dry spell for David, at least since the whole disaster with Stevie.  He’d almost forgotten how good this feels. And then on top of that, the fact that it’s Patrick’s broad shoulders spreading his legs apart, Patrick’s callused, capable hand gently stroking his balls- it’s just a lot. He’s not sure he can hold on much longer.

Patrick shifts on his knees, and when David looks down he sees Patrick pressing his other hand against his own cock, rocking into it with helpless little jerks of his hips. He sucks David harder, making a gorgeous, hungry little noise as he goes down. Suddenly, David’s right on the edge.

“Patrick, please, I’m so close, I’m going to come if you keep…” he gasps, shaking with the effort of keeping his hips still. Patrick pulls off David’s cock with a filthy, wet sound, and contemplates David for a long moment before shaking his head slowly.

“No,” he says roughly. There’s a hectic flush on his cheeks and his mouth is wet and shiny. He looks ruined. David did that.

“What?”

“No, you’re not going to come yet,” Patrick repeats, more calmly. “I’m not finished. I have a few more things I want to try. Hang on a little longer for me, David. I know you can.”

David tilts his head back and closes his eyes, biting his lip hard, trying to draw on the last remnants of his shattered self-control. Being told to wait has always been a thing for him, and it’s almost scary how hard it hits him these days, since he told Patrick about it and Patrick started making good use of the information.

He fights to hold on through the crashing wave of arousal. Everything about sex with Patrick is like this; things he’s always loved are now earth-shattering, and things that used to be just okay feel more intense. It’s increasing with time instead of diminishing, too, which may have something to do with Patrick’s relentless determination to catalogue and exploit every single thing that makes David gasp or squirm or beg. David has to admit to himself, though, that it’s likely also because of the way his own feelings are changing, the trust and certainty taking root and then cautiously unfurling in what he thought was the salted earth of his heart. Which is why it’s so scary, the way Patrick pays attention. If he looks closely enough, he’s going to see all of that, the whole messy tangled garden David’s been trying to hide.

Patrick is paying attention right now, watching David with dark, searching eyes. David feels flayed, all exposed nerves and open heart, but he takes a deep breath and meets that steady gaze. Patrick tilts his head just a little, a wordless check-in, giving David the chance to end the game if it’s too much. David bites his lip. He still wants more. 

“Yeah, okay. I can. Just don’t say anything else like that, please, or I won’t be able to.”

Patrick grins up at him, too pleased by half, but refrains from further comment. Instead, he bows his head and drags his teeth over David’s inner thigh, first just scraping lightly, then closing his teeth and nipping a line of tiny bruises up and in, until his nose is brushing the crease of David’s thigh. Patrick inhales raggedly and nuzzles in closer, like he can’t get enough. He licks messily over David’s balls, then sucks one into his mouth with a little, stifled moan, and David’s cock twitches and drools out precome uselessly. His thighs are trembling pretty much constantly now. Patrick takes his time teasing him, licking and sucking and using his teeth, but ignoring David’s cock, and David shakes and gasps and twists up off the bench until Patrick has to hold him down with both hands. David digs his fingernails into Patrick’s shoulders and wants to scream, wants it to last forever. 

 It’s not that David doesn’t want to come, exactly, but he thinks he’d wait an eternity for Patrick, if he had to. He’s always gotten off on being teased, but with Patrick it takes on a whole new dimension, because when Patrick teases him it feels like for Patrick, it’s all about David. Like he wants David so badly it takes up all of his attention. And David wants Patrick to have everything he wants, as much as he wants, this time. He wants Patrick to be able to gorge himself on all the things he couldn’t have before. He wants to come too, obviously, but orgasms are easy, comparatively. This knife-edge feeling, caught between tenderness and desperation—this is something new.

Finally Patrick sits back on his heels and looks up at David, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand while the other finally wraps around the base of David’s cock. He's smiling up at David, a dirty, sultry smile that makes David wonder how he ever thought Patrick had a clean mouth.

“What…what?” David manages. He winces as he says it but can't find better words. He's not exactly at his most articulate just now, and Patrick just keeps looking at him; it's unreasonable.

Patrick’s smile gets wider, a little fond, like David is doing something really lovely instead of just gaping at him, sex-stupid and aching to come.

“I love it when you're like this. It's so good, sweetheart.”

David shivers at the endearment. It's the worst and also fairly embarrassing that Patrick has noticed how he responds to that, but it's also the best, because ever since Patrick picked up on it, David gets ‘sweetheart’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘beautiful’ whenever they're having sex.

“Are we—do you wanna tell me about the proposed timeline for the rest of this blowjob? Because I love everything—,” David really does not want there to be any confusion on this point, “—just everything you're doing to me, Patrick. All of it, oh my god, but I might actually die if you don't let me come soon.”

Patrick kneels up over David and kisses him, grinning against his mouth, altogether too satisfied with himself. He doesn't answer right away, of course, probably because he's too busy enjoying David's suffering. The kiss turns filthy pretty quickly. Patrick gets David arched back over the table again, jerking David’s leaking cock and fucking his tongue into David's mouth with the same long, slow strokes. When Patrick finally pulls away to speak, David whines and grabs a little frantically at him, forgetting the question, forgetting that he even had a question, forgetting everything except how much he needs more of anything Patrick will give him.

“I know, I know,” Patrick murmurs, between kisses, gentling his grip on David's cock. “Just one more thing, then I'm going to make you come for me, I promise. I just want to try— it feels so good when you do it to me.” And he sinks back down, finally getting his mouth on David's cock again and licking it messily, doing his best to wet it all over, then sucking it in deep with a soft, hungry sound.

David catches his breath as the tip of his cock bumps the back of Patrick's throat. It's sudden and overwhelming and so fucking good, Patrick's hands holding him down, the wet velvet heat of his mouth, the hot tight clench of his throat. David wants to fuck into it, wants to shove selfishly deeper, again and again until he comes, but he holds still and lets Patrick take just as much as he wants, just enough. He can't control the noises he's making any more, though, or his breathing, coming in uneven, shuddering gulps. 

Patrick swallows, and David can feel the convulsive tightening as he works his throat deeper on David's cock, can feel the vibration of the stifled desperate sound Patrick makes. He has one arm braced over David's thighs, holding him down, and his other hand shoved down the front of his own jeans, like he wants it so badly he can’t wait. He's looking up at David with his mouth full, pupils blown wide in the half-dark. It’s dirty and gorgeous and perfect, and David really, really can't wait any more, either.

“Patrick, please, I need to come. I can't—I need it. Please. I just need a little more, please.”

Patrick shudders all over and pulls off with a sweet, filthy kiss to the head of David's cock. 

“Yeah. Fuck, David, you were so good waiting for me,” he says in a raw voice. “Thank you. You can come now—I want it in my mouth. Want to feel you.” He goes down again and gets to work, gripping the base of David's cock with one hand and sucking hard. He's not playing or teasing anymore, just giving David everything he needs, hard and fast. David claws at the muscles of Patrick's biceps and shoulders and concentrates on keeping still, letting Patrick hold him down and decide how deep and how fast he wants to go. He doesn't need to control it; Patrick's got him. Patrick will get him there, with his broad shoulders and his strong hands and his fucking beautiful mouth, if David just gives it up to him. 

David comes so hard he knows it’s ugly, tensing with the force of it, gasping raggedly, but he doesn't care. Every one of his nerves is firing at once, his whole body a web of sparks. Patrick swallows and then keeps sucking, his mouth going soft and careful, easing David through the aftershocks. David feels lit up, quivering, tender.

“Come up here,” he murmurs, and Patrick obliges, kneeling up and wrapping his arms around David's waist, clinging. His chest is heaving like he’s been running. David kisses his bitter mouth and pulls him closer, wincing at the scrape of Patrick's jeans against his softening cock. Patrick is so hard, still all buttoned up. He must be dying. 

David gets his hands between them and makes quick work of Patrick’s fly. He palms Patrick's cock and kisses him hard, and Patrick whines into his mouth and comes immediately, shuddering apart before David even has a chance to get a rhythm going. He collapses forward into David, graceless, knocking David back against the picnic table.

“Jesus, David. Oh my God,” he gets out, pressing his hot face into David's neck. David feels himself smiling much too broadly, but they're all alone here and Patrick can't see, so he lets himself have it for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and grinning helplessly into the twilight. He strokes up and down Patrick's back, feeling the muscles loosen gradually as Patrick slumps in his arms and his breathing slows. He almost doesn't hear it when Patrick speaks again, his wrecked voice muffled in the curve of David's shoulder. 

“Still worried I won't like it? Because I’ve gotta tell you, given recent evidence, I’m still pretty sure about the whole gay thing. Kinda hoping I can salvage these jeans, ‘cause I didn’t bring a second pair.” Patrick presses a kiss to David’s neck but keeps his face hidden. David can feel the heat of embarrassment on his face and the back of his neck.

David laughs and tightens his hold on Patrick’s shoulders. “Okay, just so you know, this kind of laundry disaster is only one of many good reasons not to go venturing off into the wild like this. But I think I may have some facial cleanser wipes in my overnight bag that you can use.” He pauses. Patrick was brave tonight, though he did his best to hide his uncertainty every step of the way. Maybe it’s David’s turn to be brave. He draws back and cups Patrick’s jaw in his hand, loving the way Patrick melts into it despite his blush.

“Hey. I wasn’t really worried. I mean, I was, but I knew it was in my head,” he says truthfully. “You’ve been-- you’ve been really clear that you’re not experimenting with me. I feel safe with you. I know I haven’t told you everything about my history, but you probably know enough to know that feeling safe—it isn’t a given, for me. So, um, thank you. For that.” 

David kisses Patrick right away, in the interests of avoiding the way his face changes whenever David says anything sincere, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth goes soft and serious. It doesn’t work though, because when they pull out of the kiss Patrick is still doing it, looking at David like he’s the moon and the stars come down to earth, something beautiful and beloved and brand new all at once. David is starting to think maybe he’ll have to get used to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took about a week longer than I thought it would because life got in the way, but here it is. There's another chapter in the works still but it will be a little while before that update. Thanks for reading, and lots of love to the folks on the SC discord.


	5. find somewhere to grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shiny new chapter brought to you by the incomparable leupagus, who helped me hack it into shape and then polish it and make it sparkle, and by all the awesome writers and readers on discord who are always finding new angles to understand these characters. There's a line in here dedicated to all of you twisted people. One more chapter to go after this.

The red-gold fire and the purple sky behind the trees are the only colours left as night falls on the clearing. The string of lights on the yellow tent makes it look cosy and inviting, which is a pleasant illusion that David is trying to enjoy until he has to spend the night sleeping on plastic. The camp chairs aren’t as uncomfortable as he had expected, though it helps that Patrick’s sitting on the ground, leaning back between David's legs, loose and easy and practically glowing with satisfaction. He seems disinclined to get up off the ground or to stop touching David, which gives David excellent access to his arms and shoulders and the sensitive nape of his neck. His arm is hooked proprietarily over one of David's knees as he toasts two final marshmallows. David trails his fingers lazily over the bunched muscle of Patrick’s bicep, the jut of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. 

“So the thing about a perfect marshmallow is it takes time,” Patrick explains. “You have to wait ‘til the fire is low enough to find a nice spot with the right amount of heat, and then you need the right distance. They catch fire pretty easily, so you have to be patient.” Patrick turns and kneels up to offer David an example of this finely-honed marshmallow technique. David leans into him and opens his mouth to accept it, loving the easy intimacy of Patrick’s fingers brushing over his lips. 

“Mmmmm. Okay, that’s very good,” David admits. He is reserving judgment on the whole camping situation until they get inside the tent, but Patrick has already made several very convincing arguments, and also it turns out that s’mores are really delicious. 

Patrick ducks in to kiss David’s jaw, making David shiver. He drags the tip of his nose up David’s neck, behind his ear.

“Mmmmm. You always smell so good.”

“You must be mistaken, because right now I smell like bonfire and dirt, which is definitely not what I’m usually going for when I get ready for the day, Patrick.”

Patrick laughs and pulls David in with eager hands. “No, just--you smell good to me. Like I wanna be near you, all the time.” He just says these things, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to David’s heart. “I don’t care if you smell like bonfire as long as you still let me get this close. Is your sweater going to be okay?”

David doesn’t want to spoil the moment, but Patrick is pretty insistent about communication for a guy who framed their first date as a “birthday dinner” and just planned a surprise camping trip. David is going to take him at his word for once, instead of following his avoidant and possibly slightly hypocritical example. Sincerity is just like ripping off a bandaid. Sometimes. At least, as long as you’re sure whatever’s underneath isn’t infected. David bites his cheek and decides to risk it.

“Well, my preliminary google search on how to get bonfire smell out of dry-clean-only garments was not encouraging, but it’s probably salvageable. Next time we do this you have to tell me in advance. I can admit it’s very romantic, but I’d prefer not to do it again unprepared.”

“Oh, so that’s what you were doing on your phone while I was getting more wood on the fire. I thought maybe you were texting Stevie to come pick you up before you get eaten by a bear,” Patrick says, sitting back down on the ground and dodging David’s courageous effort to communicate like a responsible adult. David lets him get away with it, because he’s not actually a responsible adult most of the time.

“I wouldn’t leave you here alone with the bears. Not after what you just did to me on that picnic table, anyway,” he says.

Patrick turns his head, hiding an embarrassed smile against David’s thigh. “So it was okay?”

David purses his lips ironically to one side. “I mean, I guess. If you like that sort of thing.”

Patrick laughs. “Well, I liked it, anyway.”

“I could tell.” David bends to kiss the back of his neck. He can’t see Patrick’s blush in the firelight, but he can feel it against his lips. He wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and just holds him, letting the crackle of the burning logs fill the stretching silence. 

He wonders whether Patrick will tell him a story, if he asks. Sometimes it’s risky; David still doesn’t know where the sore places are, but he’s seen Patrick tense up and change the subject often enough to guess that they exist. He’s so guarded that nothing slips out by accident, but David wants to know him. He wants more of Patrick, any way he can get it.

“Did you go camping a lot when you were a kid?” 

Patrick shifts in his arms, restless, but doesn’t pull away. David waits, and eventually Patrick answers quietly. “Yeah, I did. We didn’t have a lot of money for vacations, but we would always go meet up with my cousins at campgrounds in the summer and swim or hike all day, then in the evenings our parents would drink and talk and make dinner on the fire and we’d all tear around in the woods pretending we were shipwrecked on an island or exploring an alien planet.” 

David smiles into the top of Patrick’s head and squeezes his arms encouragingly. “Do you still do that? Go camping with your cousins?” There’s a strange feeling welling up in him, protective and warm. He likes imagining Patrick happy.

“Not so much, recently. Not since I moved here.” Patrick’s shoulders are stiff, now, and his voice sounds a little off. 

David grimaces. He doesn’t know how to talk about families and history; with previous partners he never even tried, because at the time chewing glass would have been more fun than talking about his own family. That’s not such a problem for him anymore, thanks to the wonders of motel living, but he recognizes that reflexive recoil. If it’s going to hurt Patrick, he won’t ask, no matter how much he wants to know. So he presses his lips closed over all the questions that crowd forward and tries to think of a way to back down without letting on that he noticed. 

Fortunately Patrick is better at this than David, and he’s redirecting the conversation already. “I also did Scouts. So lots of nature walks and camping trips and canoeing, that kind of thing.”

The closest David’s ever been to scouting is eating a whole box of Girl Guide cookies in one sitting, but that doesn’t make the mental picture of a tiny, earnest Patrick Brewer with a shirt covered in badges any less adorable. “So is that how you learned to do all this...survival stuff?”

Patrick’s shoulders shake as he laughs. “Well, I don’t know if it’s survival stuff. I’m still pretty much a car camper. I can build a fire, but I’d rather have a cooler full of planned-out food and a decent mattress and running water.”

“Oh, is that mattress decent? Is that the word for it?” David tries for teasing rather than complaining, but really, it’s an air mattress. 

He’s just getting ready to ask a few more pointed questions about this allegedly decent mattress when Patrick laughs again and turns in his arms, kneeling up and moving in close enough to kiss.

“Probably not, if you do what I want you to do to me on it,” he murmurs into David’s mouth, then kisses him, slow and dirty. He slides his hands firmly up David’s thighs, thumbs following the inseam of his skinny jeans, then just tucks his fingers behind the button and waits, smiling right at David, with his lower lip caught between his teeth. 

It takes David a couple of tries to start a sentence, and even once he manages to do so, it’s not his best work. “What you--um, did you, was there something else that--” He chokes on the rest of his words, because Patrick has caught his hand and brought it up to his mouth. He’s kissing David’s first two fingers wetly and deliberately, sucking on the knuckles and looking up at David with dark eyes. David has to pull his hand away after a moment, breathless.

“Yeah, there’s something else,” Patrick says. His voice is low and hot, and David shivers involuntarily. “But before that, we need to put the cooler away and douse the fire. Safety first, David.” He leans in and nips David’s ear, then uses his grip on David’s thighs to press himself up to stand while David tries to catch his breath. Patrick offers him a hand to pull him out of the chair, and keeps hold of it for a moment once David is standing, stepping back to regard him with a serious expression.

“I’ll tell you in advance about the camping next time,” Patrick says softly. “If you want there to be a next time. I know I got a bit carried away with my plan for tonight, and I appreciate you going along with it, but I get that it’s a lot. If you wanted to do it again though, we could--we could plan it together. I would really like that.” He’s looking up at David with those eyes again, and of course David’s going to say yes. He doesn’t think he knows how to say anything else.

 

*

 

Apparently the cooler has to be put away in the car because of bears. Patrick is taking care of it, having sent David off to the tent with a swat on the ass and instructions on how to work the hanging lantern that illuminates the inside. David still has some questions, though, about why the cooler gets to stay in the car with several inches of metal and glass to protect it, while he has to make do with a flimsy sheet of nylon. He shuffles closer to the tent flap and gets as far as “I know you’re the survival expert, but are you sure we shouldn’t--” when Patrick rudely interrupts him.

“David, we’ve been over this already,” he calls out firmly over his shoulder. “There aren’t any bears. There aren’t any wolves. There might be a raccoon or two. And even if there are bears, which is highly unlikely, they don’t want to eat you! They might tear up the cooler for some leftover ribs and potato salad, that’s all.” He carries the cooler over to the car and locks it away, then walks back into the clearing and crouches down by the tent, regarding David through the screen with a mix of fondness and exasperation. 

“I promise I didn’t bring you out here to be eaten by wild animals. I just need to finish with the fire here and then I’ll come join you.” He’s using the same calm, steady tone he uses when he takes David to task for over-ordering perishables or failing to record damaged deliveries in the correct column, and it’s doing something to David.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Do you need any help with anything?” Patrick organized all of this, after all, and so far he hasn’t really let David lift a finger. 

Patrick pauses like he’s considering the offer, then shakes his head. “No, I’ve got it, but thanks. There’s one thing you can do for me, though.” He grins teasingly at David as he rises and heads for the fire pit. “Start getting undressed.”

David does as he’s told, stripping down to his undershirt and boxer-briefs, his skin buzzing with desire. It’s warm in the tent, and he hates the word cosy, but it definitely applies. Something about the low domed ceiling and the way the bed fills the space makes it feel unexpectedly intimate. The lighting is appalling, of course, and the floor is vaguely gritty in a way David is trying not to speculate about, but Patrick is right about the sheets. The thread count is more than acceptable, and they’re infinitely better than a sleeping bag. David doesn’t recognize them from Ray’s. He wonders whether Patrick bought them just for this, and his heart twists at the idea of it. He’s way past resolving to be charmed at a slightly off-target romantic gesture, and well on his way to being swept off his feet, here. He falls onto his back, ignoring the abrasive scrape of plastic on plastic as the mattress shifts under him, and sighs dreamily. 

A few minutes later, Patrick zips the tent closed and crawls up alongside David on the air mattress. It would be sexier, probably, if the mattress squeaked less. But then David would have to contend with Patrick crawling towards him without any kind of distraction from the intent in his eyes and the sweet curve of his mouth. It's bad enough as it is, frankly. 

Patrick hunches over so as not to crack his head on the lantern hanging from the low ceiling of the tent, strips off his t-shirt, then rolls awkwardly onto his back next to David. He kicks off his boots and starts to shimmy clumsily out of his slightly muddy jeans. It’s the least sexy way David has ever seen anyone get undressed, objectively speaking, but that doesn’t seem to matter to his dick, which is already starting to get hard again. David loves looking at Patrick, and he hasn’t had nearly enough chances yet. He’s starting to get a little scared of how much he wants to keep looking at him.

“This is very graceful,” he says. “Is this standard Scouting procedure for changing in a tent, or are you making it sexy just for me?” 

Patrick covers his face with both hands, trying to disguise his laughter, but his voice betrays him. “Jesus, David, way to sully my childhood memories! There’s no sexy undressing at Scout camp.” He pauses and then goes on thoughtfully, “Although, now that I think about it, maybe there could have been, when I was a teenager? But I was pretty deep in the closet back then.”

Patrick turns onto his side, slings a leg over David’s legs, and slides a hand up under David’s shirt, wrapping around him like a friendly octopus. David yelps.

“Cold hands! Oh my god, your hands are cold! Did you wash them in an icy mountain stream? Get off me!” 

Patrick snickers and pulls his hand back. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Well water is colder than tap water sometimes. I forgot that you’re not used to the sacrifices involved in wilderness survival, David, because you’ve just adjusted so seamlessly today to the demands of life in the wild. Where do you want me to put my hands?”

“Just so you know, I’m very good at adjusting to a lot of things,” David replies, nettled. “I’m a flexible person. I just like to have a little warning, that’s all.”

Patrick nods, suppressing a smile. “Okay, I get it. And I can admit I didn’t do the best job of giving you warning, today, with the whole surprise camping thing. I’ll do better next time.”

“I’m sure you will,” David agrees magnanimously. “You’re a pretty fast learner. Maybe you just need an example. Give me your hand.”

Patrick offers it, eyebrows raised in amusement. David takes his wrist and guides Patrick’s icy hand to where he wants it, under his shirt and pressed against his chest. He lets his own hand cover it, warming it from both sides.

“See, as long as I have some warning that my--that someone is about to try to use my body heat to avert frostbite, I can adjust,” he says, more softly than he means to, but Patrick’s hand over his heart is making it difficult to speak.   

Patrick kisses his shoulder. “Thank you. That feels good.” They lie in comfortable silence for a moment, and then Patrick takes a breath like he’s about to speak. David waits, but nothing happens, so he waits some more. Finally Patrick shifts, weaves their fingers together, and starts talking.

“I like this a lot,” he says softly. “I’ve never--it’s hard to know what to do, sometimes, when we’re out together, because I want to touch you all the time and be close to you, but I also don’t want to be all over you in a way that's too much.”

David curls his arm around Patrick’s bare back and bites down on a smile. “I like it, too. You can touch me anytime you want.” 

“I mean, I kind of can’t, though,” Patrick hedges, sounding a little embarrassed. “I think it’s like that thing they say about dieting--how when you stop, you eat more in the end? I think--I think I must have been trying hard not to want to touch, um, people. Men. And now I can--I don't have to keep stopping myself all the time--but if I do what I want, I’m afraid it’ll be too much. It’s like I can’t get it calibrated to be a--a normal amount. Of wanting to touch you.” 

He trails off uncertainly, adjusting his head on David’s shoulder with a sigh. His hand is stroking absently up and down under David’s shirt, from the hollow of his neck down over his sternum, down to toy with the waistband of David’s boxer-briefs, then traveling back up to scratch through his chest hair. David can feel Patrick’s cock half-hard against his hip, just from that simple touch. 

He doesn’t know what it was like for Patrick, can hardly even imagine not knowing something like that about himself. David is Moira Rose’s son, for better or for worse, and while that has had its downsides over the years, he’s never had trouble _knowing_ how he feels. Talking about it is another story. But when Patrick talks, the pieces of himself he shares are beautiful. David always wants more.

David’s fairly sure the things he hides aren’t what anyone could call beautiful. He’s got a whole history of ugliness, things he’s done and had done to him, that he’d rather never revisit. Mostly he doesn’t go there, but when he does, it’s always alone, in the dark when he’s trying to sleep. The idea of Patrick trying to pick his way through that garbage heap of bad decisions and worse luck--it makes David feel sick with anxiety. But he wants to do it all the same, wants to throw open the gate and let Patrick walk around in his awful mountaineering shoes trying to find the few tenacious shoots and flowers remaining in that mess. He wants to let Patrick crouch down in the darkest corners, collect the trash, build a fire to burn it. He’s going to let him, one of these days.

So few people have chosen David the way Patrick chooses him every single day, so much time and energy and trust and affection spent on David that it feels like sunshine after a long winter. It’s scary, of course, but David is starting to think it might be okay, if he can somehow hold steady and let himself be chosen. If he can just do this right, for Patrick, if he can be as good for Patrick as Patrick is for him, if he can somehow not fuck it up this time. 

“I promise I’ll tell you if it feels like too much to me.” David says, trying his best to say the right thing despite having no idea what that might be. “I like it when you hold my hand, and when you kiss me hello, and when you put your arm around me. You could do it more, if it feels good to you. You’re--you should do whatever you want to do,” he says awkwardly. 

Patrick laughs, pushing his face into David’s shoulder, and then laughs some more, and David starts to get anxious about it, but then Patrick rolls on top of him and kisses him, all teeth and laughter and no finesse. He pulls back and looks at David, biting his lip, a smile still lurking in the corners of his eyes. “Sorry. I was just--I don’t think you understand how strange it is for me to hear that. That I should do what I want.” 

“Okay,” says David, drawing the word out to give himself time to think. He can feel the furrow between his eyebrows that his mother always warns him about. “I just meant…”

Patrick kisses him again, apologetic. “No, hey, David. It’s not bad strange. Just--when I was growing up, doing what you want wasn’t exactly top of the list of Brewer family values. My parents are good people, but for them it’s all about responsibility and hard work and helping others. ”

“Well, you are very responsible. I like that about you,” David says. “I mean, I could tell right away when I met you. Nobody irresponsible has shoulders like this.” David runs appreciative fingers over the shoulders in question, then down over Patrick’s arms, which are equally sturdy, flexed to support his weight. 

Patrick blushes and looks away. It’s fucking delicious. “I was laughing,” Patrick says carefully, “because I thought about how different my life might have been if David Rose had come along ten years ago and told me I should do what I want. Because David, I would have wanted you. I would have wanted you so badly.”

David thinks about himself, ten years ago, and he thinks about Patrick in his Canadian Tire store brand t-shirt and off-the-rack jeans. He thinks about his kindness, and his steadiness, and the way he sees David so clearly that it hurts, sometimes. Ten years ago, David would have run a hundred miles from Patrick Brewer. But he can’t say that, so he kisses him instead. He wants Patrick now, all of him, for as long as he can have him. It’s completely terrifying, but David is done running. He’s done fucking up. This is better. 

 


	6. this one thing is always supposed to stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail the lovely leupagus, wisest beta in the land. And all hail the lovely weirdoes at the Rosebudd Motel. I had so much fun whining about his hard it was to write this chapter with you all.

The thing is, David knows that not fucking up probably involves having a real conversation using words like “exclusive” and “long-term,” but he has spent a lifetime scrupulously avoiding ever having to say such things in the presence of another human who could reject him for wanting them. Fortunately Patrick seems to be on board with not talking for the moment. David slides his hands down Patrick’s back to his ass, squeezing roughly over the soft navy blue cotton of his boxer-briefs. Patrick groans in response and grinds down on David’s thigh. 

“What would you have wanted to do with me, if we’d met ten years ago?” David asks. 

“Jesus, David. I would have wanted everything I want now. All the things we’ve done and everything we haven’t gotten to yet.” Patrick leans down and kisses David fervently, pushy with his tongue and mean with his teeth just the way David likes. “Your mouth. That’s what I would have—that’s what I wanted first. Right away, when I met you,” Patrick says. He presses his thumb to the corner of David’s lips, and David lets his mouth fall open, turns to bite Patrick’s thumb. He lets his tongue slip over it as he speaks.

“Even though you won’t share a drink with me?”

Patrick exhales slowly, like he’s trying to calm himself down. He rubs his thumb over David’s wet lower lip, and his eyes follow the movement hungrily.“Ah. That—that’s actually just self-preservation at this point, when we’re at the store. I can’t, um—I can’t think about your mouth too much at work, David.”

David twists his smile sideways, but he thinks he’s probably not hiding his glee very well. “You’re thinking about it now, though,” he says, letting his fingers slip under the hems of Patrick’s boxer-briefs, scratching teasingly at the backs of his thighs. “And maybe about some other things you want? Things we discussed earlier?”

“Was that a discussion?” Patrick wonders, kind of avoiding the question, and also still much more coherent than David would prefer him to be. “Because I feel like maybe we need to circle back and review the parameters of—oh my God, David. Oh fuck.” He shudders and jerks forward sharply as David’s nails dig into his ass and thighs.

“Mmmhmm, parameters, that sounds responsible,” David says innocently. He shoves the back of Patrick’s underwear down to get his hands on skin, and spreads his legs to let Patrick settle between them. Patrick buries his head in David’s neck and rolls his hips forward slow and easy, and it’s perfect.

David wraps his legs around Patrick’s hips and pulls him closer, mostly because he loves the way Patrick catches his breath every time David does it, but also a little bit to keep Patrick from running away from his next request. It's not often that Patrick is nervous about anything, but David is getting better at picking up on his tells. 

“Patrick. You said there was something else. Tell me what you want. You know I want to hear it.”

Patrick gives an uneasy laugh, but he doesn’t pull away. “Yeah. Um, there is. And I was kind of trying to be smooth about it, but it turns out it’s just—just really hard to ask.” He bites his lip, finally meets David’s eyes, and goes on in a determined voice, “I really like your hands, David. I want your fingers in me. I want to know what it feels like. I’ve been thinking about it kind of a lot, lately.”

David gets his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck and surges up to kiss him. It isn’t actually what he expected Patrick to say, but he can’t think of anything he wants more than to show Patrick what that feels like. God, just the thought of him stretched open on David’s fingers, feeling that exquisite burn for the first time—it makes David’s cock throb. 

“Fuck, yes, I want that too. Oh my god, Patrick, ” he gasps, but then his stomach drops with sudden uncertainty. “Are you sure, though? You don’t have to ever—it’s not, like, required. Lots of people just don’t enjoy penetration; it doesn’t have to be part of sex for us. I mean, not for you anyway. I really like it. I know we haven’t done that yet, but—”

Patrick is blushing so hard he looks sunburned, but his smile is quick and warm. “I’m sure. I’m so sure. I haven’t just been thinking about it, David. I, um, I wanted to know, so I tried some things. By myself. And it was—good, but I want to know what it feels like with you.”

“Oh, well in that case, yes, definitely,” David says hoarsely, trying unsuccessfully to quell the flood of mental images triggered by that scorching detail. He needs to focus, here. Patrick is asking for this, Patrick who never asks for anything, and David is not about to fuck it up by being too deep in his own head to give him what he needs. 

Patrick kisses him quickly. “Perfect. Stay there.” He rolls off of David and rummages in his backpack for a moment before tossing a tube of lube onto the mattress. David sits up to watch him finish undressing. He wants to say something else, something about how much it means to him that Patrick wants to do this with him. He wants to tell Patrick that he wants everything, not just this but every new thing, every first time, every single kiss, all to himself. He can’t say it, he  _ can’t _ , but the pressure of keeping it in makes his throat ache.

Patrick's skin is the colour of milk in the pale light from the hanging lantern, and the swaying shadows it casts don’t quite hide the fact that he’s shaking with excitement, or maybe nerves, as he struggles awkwardly out of his underwear on the unstable mattress. Patrick lies down on his back next to David, plants his feet, and spreads his knees, and David suddenly finds it surprisingly easy to make his peace with the fact that this is about to happen in a tent in the woods on inflatable plastic. He swallows hard. 

“Is this okay, like this?” Patrick is looking up at him with a soft, open expression, eyes glittering in the half-dark, trusting David to help him through this. David would move mountains for that look on Patrick’s face. He has to get it together. 

“Actually, it’s better if—here, lift up for a second. Yeah, like that.” David goes to slide a pillow under Patrick’s hips, then remembers that they’re a million miles from civilization and the nearest change of sheets and pulls the towel out of his overnight bag to cover it first. Patrick curls to the side to help, then lies back down and lets David push his legs apart again, breathing out all in a shaky rush when David presses a kiss to his kneecap. The first gentle, exploratory brush of David’s fingers behind Patrick’s balls earns a soft curse, and Patrick’s cock twitches hard against his stomach.

“I’m going to make it so good for you,” David says, trying to be sexy, but cringing when he hears the anxious edge in his voice. He does actually know how to do this. He’s had other guys in this position, lots of them—but none of them were Patrick. 

“I know. I love your hands, David. Come here and kiss me,” says Patrick in a low, hesitant voice that sets a hook in David's chest, somewhere behind his ribs, and tugs. He reaches for David, and draws him down until David is lying on him, wrapped up in Patrick's legs and arms. They kiss for a moment, and then Patrick catches David's face in careful hands and pulls back just far enough to look at him searchingly. David wants to hide. He wants to go back to kissing. He wants to rewind five minutes and try again to be the calm, confident boyfriend Patrick deserves instead of an anxious disaster who spirals off into his own head under pressure.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says, for some inexplicable reason. What does he have to be sorry for? “I think I’m kind of ruining the mood. I’m nervous, and I know it shows, but David, I really want to do this with you. It's just—it's new. But I trust you.”

In all his lonely life, David has never wanted to hear those words from anyone. He's never set out to earn them. He's been dreading them from Patrick, actually, because Patrick is the sort of person who says them, and seems to believe that David is the sort of person worth saying them to. But now that David hears them it doesn't feel at all the way he thought it would; suddenly he’s calmer, and he knows what to do. It's not a weight; it's an anchor. 

“You're not ruining anything,” he says to Patrick, and then kisses him fervently, because he’s always been better at showing than telling. “You’re perfect. I’ve got you. I’m going to show you how good this feels.”

The floor of the tent is sort of gritty under David’s knees, but the mattress is unstable and he’s going to need leverage, so he stays where he is, kneeling between Patrick’s legs, and draws one up to prop it on his shoulder, watching Patrick's face intently. Patrick closes his eyes and turns his head to the side, clenching his jaw. His cock is very hard and he’s blushing, still, not just on his face but in red patches all the way down his neck and chest. David kisses his ankle just below the bone, and he shudders.

“Mmmmnnn. Christ, that feels strange,” Patrick breathes. “Sorry, I don’t mean it that way. It’s just that no one’s ever—it’s good, it’s so good. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” David promises. He lifts Patrick’s other leg and settles it around his waist. “Can I suck you? Sometimes—um, relaxing is important, so. It can be—sometimes it helps to be distracted.”

Patrick opens his eyes to look at David seriously. “I don’t want to be distracted. I want to feel you.”

David can’t tell what his face is doing, caught between lust and bare affection, but he’s sure it’s not acceptable. He opens his mouth, then can’t think what to say. “Oh.” 

Patrick gives him a quicksilver smile, then closes his eyes and tilts his head back again, exposing the long, pale column of his throat. David swallows hard and strokes up Patrick’s calves, then over those thick, hard thighs. Finally, he slides his hands under Patrick’s ass and hitches him closer. Patrick gasps, and David has to close his eyes against the way Patrick’s mouth drops helplessly open in pleasure. 

“So, um, you mentioned—research, trying things? Which, um, which things?” David asks tentatively. He wants to know what Patrick has done by himself and what he’s comfortable with; it’s the responsible thing to do, and moreover, the idea of hearing Patrick talk about it while David keeps touching him is almost distressingly hot. David wants to catch him mid-sentence and make him moan, wants to hear him gasp and stutter his way through the details. He squeezes Patrick’s ass and lets his fingers slip between the cheeks, spreading him wider. 

“Nnnnnnn, fuck, David, I don’t know if I can—that feels so...”

David rubs his jaw against Patrick’s leg where it’s heavy on his shoulder. “Come on, tell me.”

“I—there’s not a lot to tell,” Patrick says, eyes wide and falsely innocent in a way that says he knows what David’s fishing for, but he’s feeling contrary. “I used my fingers, a few times. I think yours are gonna be more fun.”

David presses a helpless smile to Patrick’s calf. “Care to elaborate on that theory?” He feels around in the sheets and finds the lube so that he can slick up his fingers. He’s not going to keep Patrick waiting long.

Patrick shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth quirk up in amusement. “Okay, David,” he says indulgently. “I like the way you touch me. Your hands are big, and I like that. I like your fingers too. I think I’m going to like how it feels when you put them in me. You can do that anytime now, by the way. ”

David grins. When it comes to teasing, Patrick can dish it out, but he really can’t take it. If he were a better person, he’d give this to Patrick without making him ask for it. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, though. “I’ll think about it. Since you asked so nicely.” He rubs one slick finger over Patrick's hole and watches, rapt, as Patrick's face goes slack with pleasure. “Do you like that?”

Patrick inhales sharply and exhales with a whine, “Yeah. I like that. I like that so—ohhhh…”

Patrick’s breath catches, then shudders out of him in a sigh as David adds a little pressure. David can feel him relax deliberately, letting David’s finger slip inside. It’s such a rush. It shouldn’t be; there’s nothing new about this act, for David, except the awkward location and the lack of an easy escape route afterwards. But Patrick is new, all brand new, and so shiny that David can hardly look at him, can hardly breathe for how badly he wants to be allowed to keep him. 

David strokes his finger in and out of Patrick slowly, taking his time. Every line of Patrick’s body is strained and restless. He’s chewing on his lower lip, and his hole is alternately tensing with reaction and opening greedily to pull David in. He squirms with impatience on the rucked-up sheets, and David’s own checked desire crackles and sparks at the sight. He’s never seen Patrick quite like this, all lit up and twisted with need. He can’t help pushing a little harder, just to see what happens.

“Mmmm? You were saying?” David prompts. He wraps his left hand more securely around Patrick’s ankle where it rests on his shoulder, then pulls his finger all the way out and waits, just resting it on Patrick’s twitching rim.

Patrick writhes and makes a tortured, frustrated sound. “Jesus, David, fuck. Give me more, please. I’m ready for it. I’m fucking dying for it, actually, so can you just—”

David gives him a second finger, and Patrick takes it with a strangled moan, his cock jerking against his belly. 

“I know, I know, I’ve got you,” David soothes. “You’re doing so well.” He waits until he can feel the muscle ease, then carefully starts to move again. “Do you want a little more? Not another finger, just—more intense?” 

Patrick sucks in a breath and nods, so David curls his fingers and presses inside the clenching heat of him, watches Patrick’s throat bob as he swallows convulsively. 

“Kiss me?” Patrick asks, quietly, and David complies, releasing Patrick’s legs and coming down to rest on one elbow. He curves his body around Patrick’s, lying down next to him and throwing a leg over Patrick’s thigh, shuddering with relief at the pressure and the friction on his aching cock. He’s overwhelmed with a feeling he’s afraid to name or even examine too closely. He tries to kiss it into Patrick, this glowing feeling, along with all the other things he knows already, that he’s been trying to find a way to say. The courage he’s been looking for feels closer now, almost within his grasp.

He keeps working Patrick open, stretching and pressing and rubbing, and gradually Patrick’s impatience and inhibition fall away, until he’s pliant and easy, rocking willingly up into David’s touch, one hand lazily caressing David’s shoulder and arm, the other fisted loosely in the sheets. His cock is leaking steadily now, and he’s making little hurt, blissful noises that David can’t bear much longer, but he’s taking what he’s given, letting David set the pace for once. David fucks down against Patrick’s hip a little desperately and thinks that maybe the teasing has sort of backfired on him, here. He set out to ruin Patrick for anyone else, but it’s starting to feel like that might work both ways.

“Do you still not want to be distracted?” David murmurs into his ear. “Because I really want to make you come.” He scrapes his teeth over the smooth, tense curve of Patrick’s neck for good measure.

Patrick whines and tilts his chin up more, giving David his throat in an involuntary, perfect gesture of trust. “Yeah, please, I want to come. Oh my God, I never knew it would feel like  _ this _ . 

David smiles and kisses Patrick’s neck again, then his collarbone, tasting the patchy red blush that spreads out over his chest. He shifts down to take Patrick’s cock into his mouth, keeping his fingers buried inside of him. Patrick groans and claws at David’s shoulders, so David takes him deeper and twists his fingers savagely. He pins Patrick’s hips down with his free arm and doesn’t let up. He keeps Patrick trapped between his mouth and his fingers in a ruthless, inescapable rhythm, pushing him higher and higher, until Patrick shakes apart for him with a noise that resonates through David from head to toe, mangled and obscene. 

Patrick is still shuddering through the aftershocks when David falls into his arms and buries his face in Patrick's neck, grinding his cock into Patrick’s thigh. Patrick gets it together quickly, though, well enough to get a hand on David's cock and drag him over the edge with a filthy, indulgent whisper.

“That was so good. You’re so good for me, David. Go on, I want you to come. You’ve earned it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

 

*

 

Long before David has managed to pull himself together sufficiently to do anything but lie on the mattress trying to breathe normally again, Patrick has been out of the tent to the pump and returned to hand David a wet cloth and a travel bottle of hand sanitizer. “In case you don’t want to confront the bears,” he says dryly. It's somehow both thoughtful and sarcastic, very on-brand for Patrick, and David still doesn't understand why he likes that so much, but here he is, about to semi-voluntarily sleep in a  _ tent _ with this man, so maybe the why doesn't matter anymore.

David cleans up as Patrick makes himself comfortable, or at least as comfortable as possible, on the mattress.

“Come here?” Patrick says, holding up the blankets and indicating the space in front of him. David goes, and lets himself be drawn into Patrick's arms in a cacophony of squeaking plastic that is not sufficiently muffled by the cotton sheets, however high their thread count may be. The warm, lingering kisses that Patrick presses to his neck and shoulder do, however, go a long way towards distracting David from that regrettable situation.

“Thank you for giving me a chance tonight,” Patrick says softly. “I know maybe it wasn’t what you pictured when I said we were going somewhere special. I just—I wanted you all to myself, for once.”

David settles his back against Patrick’s chest with a sigh of pure contentment. “Well, you got that. And I got s’mores and a truly spectacular blowjob, and now I get to spend the night in these luxurious accommodations, so I think we can call it a win all around—if you liked your side of the deal?”

Patrick laughs into David’s hair. “Yeah, I liked it. I think it’s safe to say you exceeded expectations.” He closes his teeth on the muscle of David’s shoulder, sharp and possessive. David shudders and presses into it.

“Mmmm, good. I always aim to please. And I appreciate you choosing me to guide you through this step of your journey. It’s a real honour.” David says. He’s trying for playful, but as soon as he says it he can tell it falls flat.

Patrick is silent for a long, tense moment, and then he kisses David’s neck again, soothing his tongue over the sting of the bite, and says hesitantly, “You know that’s not all this is, though, right?”

David doesn’t know how to answer that. A thousand reassurances and prevarications crowd to the tip of his tongue, but the truth won’t come. He shakes his head helplessly. Patrick pulls him closer. 

“David. Did I do something to make you think I—that I’m not serious?” All the lightness and the teasing are gone, and David just wants them back. It’s so much easier when Patrick is laughing, so much safer than the dangerous, uncharted depths of his sincerity. Patrick’s voice is soft and earnest now, and it’s awful, it’s disastrous, it’s a fucking avalanche of feelings. David already knows he can’t get out of it. He’s going to talk about this, and then he’s going to have to talk about all of it. He’s going to have to tell Patrick that when he looks at David it feels like the fucking sun on David’s face. He’ll have to explain to him that David has had everything and lost everything and still, after all of that, he has never wanted to keep anything as badly as he wants to keep Patrick.

David doesn’t want to have this conversation. It’s terrifying. He considers taking his chances with the bears outside, but Patrick’s arm is so solid and warm wrapped around his chest. He’s sure Patrick can feel his heart crashing around in there like a frightened bird. 

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just a habit. I used to—um, before, I’d try really hard to make it easy not to be serious about me,” David confesses, amazed at how easily the words come, mortified at the waver in his voice. “But I’m trying to be different, now. Please don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Patrick says slowly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but—earlier you said something about me being responsible. Have there been a lot of people who haven’t been responsible?” 

“I don’t know,” David says. At least he doesn’t have to look at Patrick while he says it. “Enough, I guess. But I wasn’t—it’s not like I was looking for responsible, so.” 

“Yeah, I sort of figured. Um, I don’t mean that I thought you were—I just meant that it seems like maybe I’m…not the kind of person you wanted, before? But maybe things have changed for you, since then?” Patrick sounds embarrassed and uncertain. David can hear him clenching his jaw to get through the question. “And, ah, I just wanted to say that I’m trying to be different, too, with you. I’m not proud of the choices I made in the past. I’m trying my best to be honest with you about—about who I am, and what I need. And I hope--fuck, David, I just really hope that it turns out I’m the kind of person you want, now, because I like you  _ so much _ .”

David closes his eyes and pictures Patrick: his unguarded eyes, the scar on his eyebrow, the lines of his face that David is already beginning to memorize. He thinks he’s tired of making Patrick wait; he’s ready to give him something to hold on to. He’s not sure the courage he needs is there, but he can’t wait for it to come any longer. “You're not like anyone I’ve been with before,” he says quietly, before he really even knows that he’s going to say it. “You’re better.”

Patrick doesn’t seem to know what to do with that. There’s a long silence, and David is just about to twist around and try to see his face when Patrick clears his throat and says in a raw voice, “Better?”

“Mmmhmm.” David can’t agonize over how to say this any more, so he just says it. “You’re better for me. You text me back, and you show up on time, and you know my coffee order. You listen when I tell you what I like in bed, and you ask questions, and then you try. Even when it’s new for you, you try.” 

The more he talks, the more it feels like a dam breaking open. He can’t control his words; he can’t control his face. For better or worse, Patrick’s going to know now, all of it. It will be up to him to decide what to do, once he knows. Maybe that’s okay, though. Patrick usually makes good decisions. It has to be okay, anyway, since it’s too late now and David is still talking, helpless to stop the flood.

“You like the way I dress. You notice when I’m upset. You actually like my family, I think, though how you’re managing that one is a mystery for the ages, and I’m not quite sure it doesn’t qualify you for some kind of sainthood. You tell me the truth, but you try to be kind about it. You help me when I need it, even if I’m afraid to ask.” David suddenly can’t keep on without seeing how Patrick is reacting, so he rolls over to face him.  

Patrick’s face is so wide open, it’s like a wound. How does he go around like that with all his feelings right there on his face? Doesn’t it hurt, the way emotions skim across it like clouds on a windy day? Delight, dismay, amusement, adoration. It hurts just to look at him. David closes his eyes and keeps talking, letting his mutinous heart finally have its way, letting every green, greedy tendril of need that’s been sprouting in his chest reach up, out of his mouth, seeking the sun.

“You take care of me. You’re so responsible you drive me up the wall, but you never let me down. You don’t mind my edges. You don’t think I’m too much. I know I’m too much sometimes, but you never say it.”

Finally, mercifully, Patrick stops David’s unruly mouth with a kiss. He kisses David until David gives in to it, soothing and patient and achingly sweet. When Patrick eventually draws back, he traces a thumb over David’s eyebrows, first one, then the other, and then the anxious furrow in between. David closes his eyes, determined not to cry. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, David, but I’ve got a lot of edges, too. I’ve spent most of my life trying to blunt my edges. Being with you, now, this is the first time I’ve felt like I don’t have to. I like how it feels when you walk into a room and I have to catch my breath. You’re not too much for me. You’re enough. You’re exactly what I need.”

“Okay, you can’t just say things like that,” David says, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to evaporate any wayward liquid in his eyes. 

“ _ I _ can’t just say things like that? What about what you said?” Patrick’s voice is soft and a little awed. David risks a look at him and discovers that looking at Patrick right now is both inadvisable and unsustainable; the tenderness in his eyes is ruinous.

David wishes he could stop here and let Patrick distract him with easy kisses. He’s said so much, but he still has to say this one last thing, the scariest thing, the sharp, sore thing he’s been rolling around in his mouth all day.  He takes a deep, anguished breath and forges on, smoothing his fingers over Patrick’s chest so that he has an excuse to avoid looking at him. “No, listen, I just need to get this out before I lose my nerve. Um, I haven’t done this before, and I can’t pretend I know what I’m doing, but I can’t pretend I don’t want it anymore, either. I don’t want anyone else, Patrick. I’m all in. I want to be—exclusive, I guess, not that there are a lot of options in this town. But still, I’m all yours, if you’ll have me.” For several blissful seconds, David feels nothing but relief at having finally said it, and then comes the inevitable and crushing wave of doubt. “I know maybe I’m not what you would have chosen—um, and I don’t want you to feel trapped just because I’m the first thing that came along, and I understand if you want to keep your options open for the future—”

“David, stop. Jesus, did you listen to a word I just said? I don’t want a lot of options.” Patrick's words are frustrated, but his voice is warm, and he touches David's jaw lightly, a gentle request for eye contact. David meets that clear, serious gaze as evenly as he can, given the howling internal tempest of self-recrimination and humiliation he's currently weathering. Patrick looks as steady as he always does, though, so David holds on just a little tighter.

“The thing you have to understand,” says Patrick bluntly, “is that before, I didn't get to choose. I mean, I made choices, but they were never really for me. I chose things for my family, or for whoever I was with at the time, or just because it was practical and responsible. It didn't even occur to me that I could just—just want something, like how you just wanted, I don’t know, those weird, expensive white sunglasses you wear all the time. Or that sweater I’m not allowed to touch. It didn’t occur to me that wanting something, even wanting it really badly, was a good enough reason to choose it.”

“Okay, first of all, those glasses weren’t even that expensive. Secondly, what are you saying here? Am I weird and expensive?” David realizes as he says it that maybe it’s a question he doesn’t want to hear answered, but Patrick isn't shooting him down or even letting him down easy, so he's too overwhelmed with relief to worry about it. 

Patrick just laughs and kisses him, full of affection and heat. “I’m saying I picked you, David. I could give you a long list of reasons, now, because you make me happier than I think I’ve ever been, but the truth is that I wanted you so badly I didn't need any of them. I’m saying I don't want anyone else, either. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, not in all my life, and I don't see that changing any time soon.”

After that, Patrick rolls on top of David and kisses him without letting him get a word in edgewise. It's probably for the best. David has a few more things to say, but there’s plenty of time, now. They trade increasingly drowsy kisses until Patrick falls asleep between one kiss and the next. He’s a comforting weight in David’s arms, twined around him like a clinging vine. David lies awake for a long time in this new, friendly darkness, safe in the small bubble of warmth they’ve made in the wide, cold, starry night, listening to Patrick breathe and feeling very far from alone.

 

*

 

 In David’s experience, the way it feels waking up with someone is usually predictive of how the relationship is going to be, much more so than the way it feels going to bed with them. He’s been nervous about waking up with Patrick. But when he blinks his eyes open in the morning, Patrick’s bare shoulders are the first thing he sees, limned in hazy yellow-gold light, and David feels like the same sunrise colours are swirling inside of him. 

It’s painfully early. The air in the tent is cool and damp, some bird outside is squawking, and the mattress is a nightmare. David's back is sticky from sleeping on plastic, and every time he moves his shoulder scrapes the ground. He reaches out anyway to trace the sweet, irresistible curve of Patrick’s spine.

Patrick breathes slowly and peacefully, apparently undisturbed by rude birds or the gradually sinking mattress. He’s sleeping on his stomach, blankets low on his waist, and the lines of his broad back in the golden early morning light invite kisses. He’s beautiful for sure, but there are other words that apply as well: steady, capable, caring, practical, thoughtful, sweet. David can see a thousand somedays in that gold-touched expanse of skin. He’s had more luxurious mornings in his life, but not one of them ever felt like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr if you want to shout about this ridiculously awesome show; I'm cinnaluminum over there too. Kudos and comments are loved and cherished forever.


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